Welcome to the Machine
by Fortuna
Summary: Plots! Schemes! Betrayal! All that and more this week on "As the Castle Turns!" I'm so tired I'm developing typing dyslexia...
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Find the lie in this next sentence: I bought Konami with my life savings and now I own Castlevania.  
  
Okay, this is pretty much my first serious fic. And you know what that means... Oh well, let's get this over with.  
  
  
  
Transylvania, September 16, 1787...  
  
Behind the manor of Count Ilie Trandafir there was a garden with a generous amount of trees. And in the boughs of one of these trees a creature waited. For one full year he had ensconced himself within tree limbs, outside windows, and under beds, watching the countess's children go about their daily lives. For one full year, he had studied and memorized their habits, listened to their thoughts. He knew each one intimately, and he had made his decision.  
  
Mihai, the eldest, had fair hair and blue eyes like his mother. He was calm, steady, rooted in tradition, and not over-burdened with sense. He had married two years ago and now had a young daughter. He was deeply religious. He was perfectly harmless. He was completely unsuitable to the creature's purpose.  
  
Tatiana was intelligent. In fact, she was probably the most capable of the count and countess's offspring. She had just graduated from a convent in southern France, and was bubbling over with new ideas for her parents and brothers, for the household, for Romania! What a pity she was female.  
  
Next in line: Alexandru. The hunter of the family. Ruggedly handsome, he was very popular with the local women, and his reputation reflected that fact. Ambition wasn't lacking in him; he could be utterly ruthless, sometimes cruel. He would either become very powerful, or destroy himself. No. Never Alexandru...  
  
The youngest had just recently come of age. Unlike his siblings, he took after his father in appearance. Tall and slender, he had deep coffee-colored eyes with hair to match. He always seemed out of sync with the others. The quiet and introspective young man was almost never seen hunting with his brothers or running the household with his sister and father. Most of the time, he was out here, in the gardens. He felt at peace here. Hours were whiled away, lost in thought. And nary a mean bone in his body...  
  
Perfect. In every aspect, he was absolutely perfect. And the creature waited... 


	2. Wilted Roses

=_=  
  
  
  
  
  
Inside the home of Count Trandafir...  
  
"Here it comes..." Olrox thought to himself. He stood silently before his pacing father, staring at the designs on the carpet while Ilie worked himself up to launch into another one of his lectures-to-end-all-lectures. Finally, he heard his father sigh, which signaled the start of what would surely be an hour long, one-sided 'discussion'.   
  
"Olrox, God knows I have said this countless times before, but I am deeply disappointed in you. Your behavior this evening was inexcusable."   
  
Olrox's eyes rose to meet Elie's stern glare, and immediately found the floor again. "I'm sorry, Father." he muttered. It was the same exchange the two made every time Olrox displeased his father, which was fairly often lately. He allowed himself a small grim smile. "We could argue in our sleep, we're so well practiced..." he mused.   
  
"I don't think you are."  
  
"I am not sorry for my actions; I am sorry for upsetting all of you." And he was. It was heartbreaking to see his mother fight back tears when he had stalked out of the room at dinner. He felt like the scum of the earth when he heard Marie softly weeping as he shut the door behind him. What was he to do? His father had practically dropped him in Marie's lap, a woman he hardly knew, and he knew the reason. It would take an idiot of Alex's magnitude to not notice the fact that the mansion wasn't in as good repair as it used to be, or that the staff had been steadily dwindling over the years. The Trandafir house was losing its footing financially, and it was well known that Marie's family was one of the wealthiest in Transylvania, though they lacked nobility. A marriage between the two houses would bring much needed money to one, and much wanted status to the other. Win-win, except of course for the bride and bridegroom. This thought made Olrox flush with anger; he had a temper to match his father's...  
  
Ilie began again. "Well, what did you THINK your little outburst would do?! You have single-handedly destroyed our friendship with Lord Jacques, Marie is devastated, your mother has locked herself in her room, and all because of your lack of consideration for anyone but yourself. I swear, Olrox, I don't know where we went wrong with you, but you are the most selfish child I have ever had the misfortune to raise. You sulk around the library and the gardens all day, and all the world could go to hell around you." That stung. Ilie was especially caustic tonight.  
  
"I seek solitude because you and Mother and the Jacques have done nothing but force Marie and me together for months! When will you understand that I don't wish to marry?" He sounded more abrupt than he had intended. In a softer tone he continued, "I wonder if it is not our parents who are the selfish ones..."  
  
That was the final straw for Ilie. In three long strides, he crossed the room to Olrox and backhanded him so hard he fell to the floor in a rather undignified manner on his backside. As he shot his father a look of disbelieving shock, he heard a soft rustle outside the doors. Undoubtedly, some nearby maids and such had heard the escalating volume of two Trandafirs' 'discussion'. By that time, however, Olrox's own pent-up rage had been ignited, and he didn't care if it was his own family listening at the door. He picked himself up off the floor with as much dignity as he could muster before spitting at Ilie's boots. He met his father's hard stare with one of his own. "I've had enough of this. Marie and I are not trinkets to be traded for worldly gain."  
  
His father was obviously trying very hard not to strangle his youngest son. His voice shook with anger. "You worthless, ungrateful, self-righteous brat! Poponar! You have had enough? I, too, have had quite enough of your whining! Go!" He flung his arm towards the door. "Go from me, go from this house; the sight of you is wretched to me! You are a son of mine no longer, nor ever again. We'll see how much higher you are than we when you are naked and starving on the streets!" With that parting remark, he turned his back on Olrox and stared into the fire, a statue of pride and stubbornness.  
  
Olrox slowly backed towards the doors. He half-wanted to apologize somehow, but he knew what that would entail, and besides, he was clearly too far into this to back out now. "Maybe it was only a matter of time..." he tried to comfort himself. Then he let his anger take over again. Always it was anger that drove him to act; a pool of strength he could always draw from. He spit again and retaliated. "Fututi gura! Considering how miserable I am here, I should find begging a pleasant change, Count Trandafir. I would rather languish free and than live as a slave to politics and greed!"   
  
He swept out past the bewildered maids and into the corridor. After about five paces he began to run. His blind rage was beginning to subside, and the seriousness of what he'd allowed to happen a few moments ago was starting to make him panic. He dimly heard his father's voice bellowing after him, but it was only a garbled noise; everything was starting to run together; he was certain he would faint soon.  
  
  
Shortly after Olrox had left, Elie had realized the grave mistake he'd made. He ran into the hall and called after his child, pleading with him to come back, that something could be worked out, but Olrox kept running, seemingly ignoring his father's supplications. The old temper was inflamed again and he shouted at the top of his lungs at the swiftly receding figure at the far end of the hallway.   
  
"Fire-ai al dracului!"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Oi. What a soap this is becoming. Hopefully we can get to the good stuff next chapter, hmm?  
  
Fututi gura- Screw you  
Poponar- fag  
Fire-ai al dracului- May you belong to the devil 


	3. A Deal with the Devil

Eeeeeeeeee! *does a happy dance* I got three reviews! So what if two are from the same person! ^_^ To answer your question, Enigma, the words are (fairly poor) Romanian, or some Slavic language very much like it, as are the names of Olrox's family. :) Oh, and be warned that this fic is very AU. So all you people who are well read in Castlevania lore, don't get mad at me. It's been too long since I played the game to remember much. ^^;;;  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Despite his wave of dizziness, Olrox had managed, through some divine intervention, he was sure, to make it all the way to the gardens without more than a few unsteady stumbles. Leaning against a large old olive tree, he let himself sink slowly to the grass.  
  
His head was swimming. In the heat of the moment, the practical aspect of leaving the Trandifir house had never crossed his mind. Now, however, it was hitting him full force-with a vengeance.  
  
'Where will I go? Where will I stay? How am I to live? I must find work, but what could I possibly do? Ohgodohgodohgodoh god in heaven, what am I doing?' Wiping his coat sleeve across his eyes, Olrox made an attempt at pulling himself together. "Tomorrow," he croaked out aloud, though there was no one else to hear it. 'Tomorrow, I will pack a few changes of clothes, and money, and I will say goodbye to my family and the servants. And then I will saddle my horse and I will leave. I will go northeast towards our village; if I get lost, I'll ask for directions. If it rains, I'll find shelter. If I am held up....I must pack a weapon also. Perhaps Alex could give me one of his guns. Or a sword. That would be better, I think. Yes. I can do this,' he straightened a bit. 'Just take it one step at a time. When I get to the village, I'll rent a room and then look for some sort of employment. There must be things I could do. I could wash dishes, at least, or clean, or muck out stables.' His possible job options seemed less and less appealing the more he thought about them. 'And even if I end up as a laborer, it wouldn't be all bad. I COULD use the exercise...'   
  
His obviously bleak future flashed across his mind. At best, he would spend the rest of his life working long, hard days at something he hated for meager wages. He would struggle to keep a roof over his head and food in his stomach for years, and, considering his soon-to-be living conditions, he would likely as not catch some dreadful disease and die at any given time. At worst... He shivered. 'No good thinking about that. You're getting ahead of yourself, don't damn this before it's even begun...'   
  
Abandoning what little control over himself he had regained, Olrox rested his head against his knees, curled his arms around his legs, and let a second wave of tears come. He would have to be strong later, so he might as well wallow in self-pity now, while he still could, and get it over with. He would survive this, and in all likelihood, it wouldn't be as bad as he imagined, but a sheltered and slightly spoiled young man needs to escape the stiff confines of rationalism and maturity now and then, right?  
  
  
Roughly ten yards away...  
  
  
Patience. Patience and perseverance most certainly pay off. Slipping from the boughs of the tree with liquid grace, the creature landed without a sound, even the long traveling cloak swirling around his tall frame noiselessly. With one gloved hand, he swiped a lock of snowy white hair out of his eyes. Effortlessly, he seemed to glide rather than walk across the lawn, the grass blades springing back up in his wake as though he had never stepped there.   
  
He reached the olive silently and leaned against it, gazing down at the pitiful form huddled at its ancient trunk. A mortal, dressed in shades of green and pale yellow. Last season's cut and style, but fashions change far too quickly anyway, and considering the family... It was easily forgiven. Truth be told, it was far more likely that more attention was paid to the tall, lean figure wearing the slightly dated weaves than the clothing itself, under any circumstance.   
  
Little could be seen of the mortal's face, as it was hidden behind a curtain of careless, deep brown hair that had somehow or another escaped the ribbon that usually held it in a ponytail. The creature remembered the face, though. And it brought back numerous fond and uncomfortable memories. Such a familiar face, in its own way...  
  
He was very young. Perhaps not by mortal standards, but when measured against the creature's years he was little more than an infant. Late teens, or early twenties. It was difficult to tell for sure, but soon it wouldn't matter anyway. 'Age, with all its afflictions, will never touch him.' Such an opportunity would never again present itself. The wait was over, and now was the time to act. His unnatural voice softened in mimicry of compassion.  
  
"Child, why are you crying?"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Child, why are you crying?" Olrox had had the uneasy feeling that someone was watching him for the past few minutes, and at the sound of a voice, very nearby, his heart leapt into his throat. It was hard to determine the source of the voice after it stopped, as the sound had seemed to surround him. Instinctively, he looked behind him.  
  
  
  
  
  
He smiled as he observed the mortal's reaction. He saw muscles tense and heard faintly the human's quickening pulse as he tried to pin down the location of the voice. Fear was really such a beautiful emotion... The human let out a surprised yelp and jumped back, looking ready to bolt. The creature chuckled good-naturedly and made a polite bow. "Forgive my rudeness; I had no intention of startling you." He threw in a gentle smile, a wink, and then seated himself casually on the ground.  
  
  
  
  
  
Olrox knew he must look like a fool, staring and gasping like a fish out of water, but he hadn't expected the owner of the voice to be so close! He was not more than two feet away. And the sight of the strange visitor was nothing short of extraordinary. His build alone was awing. Broad-shouldered, but slim, and Olrox wouldn't have been surprised if he was seven feet tall. The man's features were hard-set, as though he'd been carved out of marble. Cold eyes of amber gazing out from a slightly hollow alabaster face, a living statue. Olrox shivered. There was something very unnatural about this man, from his paleness (and he was exceedingly pale) right down to the chilling precision and agility of his movements as he brushed off imaginary specks of dirt and straightened the nonexistent wrinkles in his coat, waiting for the younger man to regain his composure. He himself was immaculate and completely composed. 'Composed,' Olrox mused. 'Like a corpse waiting for its funeral...' Odd, that he should think of something like that.   
  
Remembering himself, Olrox sat up at a respectful distance from the stranger. 'He must have been sick. That's why he's so pale and gaunt. At any rate, he seems well enough now...'   
  
"Excuse me, but this is private property."  
  
The man quirked up an eyebrow amusedly. He smiled as one would to a small child who has unwittingly said something improper. "It's quite all right, young Trandifir; I am an old family friend, you could say." The deep voice, now louder than it had been at first, had an uncanny resonance to it that made Olrox squirm a little.  
  
"Then you will want to come inside, of course, Sir..."  
  
"Oh. I must beg your pardon again. I forget my manners; I don't socialize much. Just call my Vlad. That will do. And I'd really rather stay out here, if it's all the same to you. After all, it's lovely weather." Off-putting, his amiability, but Olrox continued.  
  
"Does your horse need tending, then, Vlad? Can I get you anything at all? If I may be so bold...you look ill."  
  
This won another airy chuckle. "I have no horse. I walked here. As I said, the weather is too lovely to waste." Another wink. "And you most certainly are bold; bolder than you know. You could say that I am ill, and have been, but I will recover, I always have before." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "You can help me with that soon enough. But you never answered my question. Finding a young nobleman weeping in his garden in the dead of night is not a common occurrence."   
  
Olrox half thought he was being laughed at in some way, but somehow he doubted that this so-called family friend was disposed to such ridicule. "It is nothing, sir, I assure you. I would not burden you with my own personal problems."  
  
Vlad grinned momentarily, and then seemed to catch himself. Olrox saw shining white teeth for only an instant. "I make you uncomfortable, I see." He held up a hand to stop Olrox's protest. "No, I know the effect I have on others. So," he said matter-of-factly, "I will be more straightforward. I have come here because I feel I owe your family a favor. You have fallen out of your father's favor. He has gone so far as to disown you." A sigh as Olrox opened his mouth to speak. "You may question me all you like tomorrow, perhaps. Come now, it grows late!" A spark of irritation. Olrox decided to be seen and not heard for the time being.   
  
"I am in need of an apprentice of sorts," Vlad continued, eyes half-lidded. "Someone to help me run my household and learn my...trade." He almost laughed aloud at that, and it was imperceptivity harsher this time. The younger man's upset expression further tickled him. "Calm yourself, child," was the gentle reprimand. "Seeing as you are in need of this opportunity, I have come to offer this apprenticeship to you. I offer it freely; all you need do is agree." He held out his hands, as if presenting some unseen gift.  
  
Olrox looked warily into the strange, ageless face smiling at him, then stared down at his own nearly worn-out boots and considered the older man's proposition. It was the answer to all his problems, such a perfect solution, but... 'It's too easy! A total stranger appears right on time just to bail me out? No...' Olrox's better judgment told him to run for the house, politely declining once he was safely inside.  
  
But then there was another part of him that desperately wanted to accept the unusual invitation. He couldn't begin to guess the reasoning behind this; perhaps it was a need for security, or a longing for adventure and spontaneity. Maybe part of him was just plain bored to tears. Olrox opened his mouth to answer, and then chickened out and snapped it shut again, running a hand through his hair agitatedly.   
  
  
  
  
  
Vlad watched and heard the human's indecision. This one needed a little nudge. Sighing, he moved as if to stand. "I really would love for you to accept, but...if don't wish to, I suppose I could find someone else..."  
  
It had the desired effect. Olrox was jolted out of his thoughts and managed to sputter out: "Oh, that's quite all right; I think I'd like to."  
  
The creature smiled. Just a bit more coaxing... "You THINK you'd like to?" Smile. A little charm and charisma never hurts.  
  
  
  
  
  
Olrox thought for a moment, or at least pretended to. "Yes. I'm sure I'd like to." He managed a nervous smile. This was it! He could start over, make something of himself; he could reconcile himself with- 'Don't get your hopes up. If you can, you can, and if you can't, well...that's Elie's problem.' He wasn't going to let his father put a damper on his excitement, though. He quickly scrounged up some poise and thoughtfulness. "There will be paperwork to take care of?" It was meant as a statement, but the older man didn't seem to take it as such.  
  
Vlad waved a hand dismissively. "All legalities will be taken care of, not to worry. Now, if you're certain you've made your decision..." He held out a gloved hand. Olrox slightly warily clasped it, and almost in the same instant, he had been pulled to his feet. The sudden change from sitting to standing was too much; he swooned, and would have fallen had Vlad not caught and steadied him. Olrox leaned against the arm Vlad offered while he waited for the world to stop spinning.  
  
"Oh, forgive me. I really should have given you some warning," the older man apologized in a sympathetic tone.   
  
  
  
  
  
The creature shifted his arm, gently, so as not to bruise the human. He now had a secure hold around Olrox's shoulders, should the Trandifir panic and try to run, though at the moment, he still looked too disoriented to do much of anything with the finesse needed to escape another human, much less the fiend he was comfortably nestled against now.  
  
Vlad's canines pushed at his lips as they stretched into a smile at that thought. How fragile and trusting they are! [Has he no idea at all that I could kill him effortlessly? Even now I must be careful not to crush his hand in mine.] His thumb brushed over the knuckles of Olrox's left hand, which he had never released. He knew he probably should have; too much contact was bound to make the human uneasy, but it was much warmer and softer than his own. It seemed a waste not to enjoy any such things while they lasted.   
  
The young one seemed to be regaining his bearings, squeezing his tired umber eyes shut and rubbing his right temple with one slender hand. He felt the human shiver somewhat, then stiffen as soft eyes snapped open and focused on him. [Damn. I hate being rushed.] He made an attempt at allaying Olrox's obvious distress, fully aware that he couldn't stall for very much longer.  
  
"Feeling better? You've certainly had an unusual day, haven't you?"  
  
  
  
  
  
Still reeling, Olrox became quite abruptly aware of the coolness of the arm supporting him, and also of its vice-like strength. Experimentally, eyes still closed, he tried shifting his weight as though he were about to take a step. He couldn't! He couldn't budge at all, he was being held perfectly in place. [Not right not right at all...] An animalistic terror was building in him, though he had no idea why he was so upset, his body was screaming at him to flee.  
  
Automatically, he opened his eyes, looking up at Vlad with undisguised alarm. He could vaguely hear murmuring and feel caresses that he supposed were meant to be soothing, and while this made him all the more panicked, he found himself transfixed by the bizarre eyes of the other man. Vlad's gaze had caught his own very quickly, and Olrox was unable to break eye contact. As for all other senses and thought, they were pushed into the background. [Just what the hell is he?]  
  
He realized, a moment too late, that he couldn't see Vlad's aureate eyes anymore.   
  
Olrox had perhaps one second to scream as he was plucked off the ground by an arm wrapped around his waist before an iron hand grabbed his hair near the scalp, twisting his head up and to the right just as two impossibly sharp somethings were driven into his throat, flooding his senses with a blinding pain. 


	4. Blood of My Blood

All right, just a quick correction from last chapter. I wasn't sure how Olrox's surname ought to have been spelled, so I've been using two different spellings. As it turns out, I was right the first time: there are two 'a's', not two 'i's'. There. Settled.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
For the first few seconds, Olrox fought back with a strength borne of desperation. Unfortunately for him, struggling against a stone statue or something of equally stubborn consistency would have been a bit more productive. This being the case, he exhausted himself rather quickly.   
  
As Olrox gave up on the concept of moving, the unbearable pain, which had lanced through his entire body only a moment ago, seemed to retreat back to its source in his throat. During that respite, his confused brain was given a chance to catch up with the rest of the world. 'Vampire. That's the word I wanted. I'm going to die.'   
  
Faced with this sudden revelation, Olrox felt a sort of calm. The fight was over. He had lost, true; he'd lost miserably, but it didn't really matter that much. He reasoned, as he tried one last tentative shove against his captor, that, seeing as a vampire before had never bitten him, he ought to think about that for a bit. After all, it certainly wasn't an experience most people had.   
  
'So, this is what it's like. It's........not so bad, really, after the first part, anyway.' Olrox still felt a steady pressure at his throat, but it wasn't a stinging or pinching sensation like before. He relaxed as a cold, numbing euphoria washed over him. Olrox could feel the arms around him tighten; he could feel, and even hear, his ribs cracking as he was crushed against the vampire. He could feel his very life swiftly seeping out of the wound in his neck, faster than it had before. None of it hurt at all, though. He couldn't remember the pain of the bite, now that he was floating in this frigid void. 'Lovely. I wonder why people are so frightened of them. I suppose because you can only do it once...' Now too weak to smile at his last joke, one final conscious thought flitted through his mind before he fell into what he was sure was his final sleep.   
  
'Mother is going to have an absolute fit.'  
  
  
  
  
It had been so long. How many years had it been since he had done this, since he had tasted the blood of another? Too many, far too many. But now time was irrelevant, or it just didn't exist. His universe was Olrox, had always been Olrox, and would always be Olrox, in perfect unity, two hearts moving the same blood. He caught snatches of emotions, memories, and fleeting fragments of thoughts, all with overwhelming intensity.  
  
Then, slowly at first, the gush of hot liquid life became a trickle, the heart next to his began to falter, and his thoughts were, once again, entirely his own. [Enough.] With a great effort, he pulled back, running his tongue over his fangs as he watched rivulets of blood ooze from the twin puncture wounds. He feared for a moment that he had taken too much; Olrox looked frightfully pale, which wasn't really so surprising, and he was dangerously cold, hanging limp in Vlad's arms.   
  
Setting his burden down against the tree trunk, he was rewarded with a very soft, tired sounding little groan, barely audible to human ears. It was relieving, but Olrox wouldn't last much longer; the vampire would have to be quick.   
  
Rolling up one of his sleeves partway, Vlad held his left wrist to one of his fangs, underside-up, and sliced a gash across it. Then, tipping back Olrox's chin, he let the blood run down into the human's open mouth. Leaning down next to the human's ear, he whispered, "Olrox. Olrox, you need to wake up now, child."  
  
As if by way of reply, Olrox gave a feeble whimper, followed by a weak coughing fit when he choked on blood. Vlad withdrew his wrist, sparing it a cursory glance and seeing that it was nearly completely healed. He reached into the folds of his coat and produced a small, wicked-looking dagger. Brushing his hair over his shoulder, he held the point of the weapon over where he knew the artery to be, gasping as the chill steel bit into him. Its purpose served, Vlad replaced the dagger.  
  
Lifting the human slightly, he placed his hand behind Olrox's head, pressing the human's lips against the open cut in his throat.  
  
  
  
  
  
From his dark, unconscious void, Olrox became gradually aware that he was drinking something. Not only that, but he was unbelievably thirsty. And, irritatingly enough, the source of whatever it was he was drinking kept getting smaller, as though it was closing, so he had to keep tearing at it with his teeth to widen it again. The fluid itself was rapturous, and he lapped it up and gulped it down greedily, pausing only to catch his breath and reopen the wound.  
  
Wait. [...Wound?] Olrox came to the painful realization of what he was drinking. His senses returning, he tasted an instantly recognizable tang in the liquid he was still swallowing. [Blood. Blood! What in God's name am I doing?!] And yet, he couldn't persuade himself to stop.   
  
He didn't have much time to try, however, as a hand caught a fistful of his hair and pulled him back for him. He heard a shuddering groan and was mortified to discover that it was his own hoarse voice. For only an instant, Olrox felt shamed tears prick his eyes before he mercifully faded into unconsciousness again. 


	5. Welcome to my home

When Olrox awoke, he was too weak to open his eyes. His entire body felt like a leaden weight, frozen and lifeless. The only movement he could discern at all was the steady pumping of blood through chilled veins. Too tired for much else, he concentrated on that, how the relentless rhythm brought life back to what was a cold shell, warming him gradually as if by friction alone.  
  
Without warning, his lungs filled with oxygen, and a tingling sensation, starting from his chest and working its way outward, stirred up his first conscious thought. 'What?' He hadn't realized that he hadn't been breathing; it took him a few seconds to remember what breathing was. It seemed he had been drifting through nothing for a lifetime. Another, deeper breath was drawn, and the tingling from moments before suddenly exploded into pain.   
  
A vague memory occurred to him, that when he had slept on his arm the wrong way, or sat cross-legged too long, the restored circulation could be rather painful. His bleary mind came to the profound conclusion that he must have slept on his whole self the wrong way, for a very long time. He became aware of muscles, as they all seemed to panic at once at this foreign concept of blood and nourishment. His mind was confused and overwhelmed by the amount of energy it was receiving. What would have been a scream came out as nothing more than a piteous squeak. His now somewhat regular breaths were short, hitching gasps; Olrox clenched his teeth against the fire lacing through his veins, wishing he could stop all this damn movement and be still again.  
  
To add to his confusion, now there was a kind of weight resting on his chest, and another something or other clamped around his arm. Startled, Olrox moved his arm, trying to pull it out of whatever was holding it. No sooner had the muscles contracted, than an absolute tidal wave of pain slammed into him; now he did scream, his back arched involuntarily, and his body went into convulsions. However, he was quickly pinned, and though his muscles were still twitching, they were beginning to calm down. His breath, too, was deeper and smoother.  
  
With this reprieve, Olrox's mind turned outward. Whoever was pinning him (he surmised that the weight was in fact a person) was letting its hair fall into Olrox's face, and, for the first time in what seemed like eternity, he felt a bit annoyed. Absently moving his left hand to brush it away, another, weaker jolt shot through him. He cried out once before settling into soft, frustrated sobs.  
  
"I know. I know it hurts. It doesn't last forever; be still, child." The voice was unexpected, but it spoke softly and was comforting. Reassured by the knowledge that someone else was there with him, Olrox tried to follow the person's advice, willing himself to relax. He was thoroughly surprised when it worked, and his body obediently went slack. The hands that had held his arms now began rubbing him down; in his mind's eye Olrox saw the stables at home when the grooms and stable boys had done the same to Alex and Mihai's horses after they came back from riding. Beginning at his shoulders, the hands worked their way down his arms to his hands, which were lifted and massaged gently to increase the blood flow. Olrox hadn't been aware of it, but his hands felt like ice; they didn't seem to be warming as quickly as the rest of him. His arms and shoulders, however, felt worlds better, and energy moved through them more freely.   
  
"Isn't that better? Now, you've proved you can hear me; could you look at me, Olrox?" At this gentle coaxing, Olrox remembered that he had eyes. Wary of even his facial muscles, he slowly opened them, gazed up at a vaguely red-tinted blur hovering over him. Blinking once, he waited for his eyes to focus. After a few seconds, the red mistiness of his vision faded, and the blur sharpened into a face he thought he'd never see again.   
  
Before he could think to yell, Vlad clamped a hand over Olrox's mouth and leaned in millimeters from his face, staring him directly in the eyes. Olrox was too terrified to make a sound, but the amber eyes didn't have the same effect on him as they had earlier. What control they did exert was only slight. They seemed somehow...different, though. Olrox couldn't place it, everything he saw was changed in some way. He caught the subtle refractions of light glinting off Vlad's poreless skin, the eyes were myriad hues of gold, orange, silver, brown, and were multi-faceted, fathomless. Every ivory strand of hair stood out in perfect clarity. Olrox was seeing for the first time, and everything he had ever laid eyes on up to then had been a garbled, pale reflection of this new and wonderful reality! Noticing movement in Vlad's face, Olrox realized that he had been talking to him for some time; now it was the ears' turn to revel in a newborn sense.  
  
"...awakening was very difficult. Perhaps I should have let you drink more, but that is behind us." Olrox was paying more attention to the voice than the words. If it was striking the last time he had heard it, it was mesmerizing now. He could make distinctions between baritone and bass tones, beautiful layers and levels, meshing together into one harmony. He nearly wept. The voice continued, with all its nuances and music. "...Ah, but you are dazed. You're not comprehending a word I'm speaking to you, are you?" And Vlad lifted his hand.   
  
Here, Olrox felt it was time to offer some sort of answer, so he uttered the first thing that came to his lips. "Am I dead?" His voice was so wholly his own, and yet sounded so different, that he was shocked into a second pensive silence. He replayed his question in his head, recalling the layers of tenor, which were possessed of a hauntingly unnatural quality, a sort of clear reverberation that was a little bit frightening. This time, Vlad allowed time for Olrox to assimilate some of the flood of stimuli before replying.  
  
Vlad drew back and sat in a chair placed beside the bed Olrox was lying on. 'I never noticed the room...' Olrox was further calmed, knowing that he was in a physical space, something he had given no attention to moments ago. His gaze meandered about the room, drinking in fabrics, woodwork, stone, glass, everything within sight, as though he had never seen them before. And he never had, not like he was now. His ears caught soft, amused laughter from Vlad, and he listened as his eyes reassumed their trek across a particularly fascinating lamp flame.  
  
"Well, in what sense of the word do you mean 'dead?' You breathe, you move, you think. Your soul is in you, so you must be alive, is that not so?" His laughter took an ironic tone for just a moment. "You've found a light, I see. I remember. Yes, I remember very well my first night. It is heart wrenching, no? Eden could not be lovelier than a kitchen garden everything becomes so alive. Has your agony subsided? Good then, you must get up, and know what else has changed for the better." And with that, Vlad helped Olrox stand. Olrox was still sore, and his movements were torpid, but he could move well enough. Vlad watched for a moment to see that Olrox was keeping his balance before crossing the room to a small table. Olrox, meanwhile, made a mental check of himself now that he was standing and fairly lucid. His clothes were a mess. Everything was wrinkled, and there were several tears in the material. Some of it had been threadbare already, but now he was wearing rags. 'If my clothes are this bad, I must look a fright...'   
  
Then another thought occurred to him. 'What on earth am I doing in this place, anyway? And with him, of all people...' Deciding this query needed resolving, he started toward his unusual companion. After two steps he froze, shocked at his own movement. His walk didn't feel right; it was too...fluid. He shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut. Opening them again, he tried once more to walk properly, wondering at his noiseless steps. It was like his own body had become completely alien to him; he stopped and simply stood in the middle of the floor. He stared at the hairline cracks in the stone for a few seconds, before Vlad's voice brought his attention back to the present.  
  
"It's rather late, now. I had wanted to speak with you for a while; however, circumstances didn't allow, and at any rate, you seem exhausted by your ordeal." At this, he turned, lamplight playing on the buttons of his coat, his eyes, his hair, and also a silver chalice he held elegantly in his right hand. "Ah, so you've taken a few steps already. It takes getting used to, doesn't it? In a week you'll forget you ever moved another way."  
"Ordeal? I'm afraid I don't understand," Olrox asked confusedly as Vlad padded over to him, his boots soundless against the stone floor. With catlike grace, he put the chalice in Olrox's hands, smiling encouragingly as he did so.  
"You should not be burdened with such things now. Here, drink this. It and rest should help to revive you."  
  
Olrox peered at the contents of the chalice. He held it by the cup, which was warm. 'Odd, he was holding it by the stem...' It looked a bit like brandy. His parents and nurses had given him and his siblings warmed brandy when they were sick; this seemed a logical enough explanation. But what had heated it? There was no fire in the hearth, and the ashes looked old... Watching thin tendrils of steam curl up from the liquid, he puzzled over it for only a moment. It smelled rather nice-very nice, actually- and he was feeling a bit drained... He raised the chalice to his lips, then, noticing he was being watched, raised his eyes to Vlad's. Vlad gave him a little urging nod. "Go on. Make sure you drink all of it." Olrox took a small, experimental sip, and then gulped the rest, letting the last drop slide onto his tongue before handing the chalice back to Vlad. It certainly hadn't been brandy, of that much Olrox was certain. He could feel it driving the coldness out of him, right out to his fingertips and feet. A relieved sigh escaped him; his eyelids drooped a little.  
  
Vlad set the chalice on its tray on the table and looked toward the one small window in the room, though it was tightly shuttered. "And now, child, for the rest I spoke of. You are tired, are you not?" Now that it had been mentioned, Olrox was extremely sleepy, and he nodded as he stifled a yawn. "Yes."   
The taller man chuckled softly and laid a hand on Olrox's shoulder. "Good. Sleep well, then, child. Tomorrow will be a busy day, I think." He embraced Olrox briefly, kissed his forehead, then left the room so quickly Olrox had trouble following his exit with his eyes. Finding himself alone, he walked wearily back to the bed, falling fast asleep almost before he had fallen onto it.   
  
He awoke gradually, seeming to rise up into the level of his conscious mind. He had slept in his clothes again. They were clearly ruined. The lamps burned low, but a fire had been started in the fireplace, so Olrox went to it, holding out his hands and letting them soak in the lovely heat. He couldn't discern why he was so cold constantly. Pulling a chair close to the hearth, he sat, letting his feet warm as he collected his thoughts. What had been muddy and confused yesterday (at least, he thought a day had passed) was becoming clear now. His pulse quickened as he recalled recent events.  
  
'Where am I? This isn't my father's house; in fact, I left the Trandafir house last night. I remember, because that's when...' His eyes widened. "Sweet Mother of God." He desperately hoped he was dreaming. 'I remember because that's when he...But why am I here? I was sure I was dying, unless this is Hell...' He shivered. He couldn't think about such things. A bit a white caught his eye from the mantelpiece, and upon standing, he saw that it was a sealed note. Breaking the seal with his finger, he sat down again to read it by the firelight. It was simple, only a few lines written in a flowing script.  
  
'Young Trandafir,  
There is a bathing room past the door on the south wall. Also, I have taken the liberty of having a change of clothes brought for you.' Olrox glanced around. Indeed, there was what looked like a new set of clothing laid out neatly on the bed. 'When you have finished, exit the door on the west wall. You will come into a hallway, where one of my servants will meet you and show you to my chambers. I am eager to speak with you concerning your new duties as part of my household. You do remember our agreement? I'm sure you also have questions and concerns for me, which I will be only too happy to answer for you. Again, I welcome you to my home.   
  
Yours truly,  
V.T.D.'   
  
"I'm not dead," he whispered, hands shaking as he set down the note. He did remember their conversation. Maybe...the rest was something he had dreamt. Perhaps he had come down with a fever; fevers caused hallucinations. That must have been it. 'How could I have been so ridiculous? I hope I haven't embarrassed myself in front of him.' With this thought in mind, he went about following the note's instructions.   
  
Olrox had always been rather fond of hot baths, and this proved to be an especially nice one. The bathing room itself was small, with a large, rectangular bath sunken into the floor. The floor and bath were one, the entire affair covered in tiny ceramic tiles that formed patterns and borders along the floor that were obviously Greco-Roman inspired. The walls were plastered, and angels and mythic creatures swam along in their own two-dimensional world, oblivious of any observation. Undulating reflections of the water seemed to breathe life into them as they floated in that peaceful scene. Above the skillfully painted frescoes, the ceiling was painted a pale blue with wispy white clouds, mimicking a summer sky. The water was delightfully warm, and seemed to be moving, always clean. Olrox supposed that there was a system of pipes moving the water along. 'Maybe it won't be so bad here...'   
  
After he felt sufficiently clean, he climbed out and toweled himself dry. Against one wall of the room was a basket of combs, oils, and powders, and a polished bronze plate to serve as a mirror. The light was very dim, but he could have sworn as he pulled a comb through his hair that he looked different. Of course, he wasn't used to looking into bronze, so he assumed it could distort things a bit. Rubbing some faint-smelling powder over him to get the last traces of moisture off, Olrox stepped back into the bedroom to dress.   
  
Pulling his hair back, he tied the silk ribbon around it, and then looked down at himself. He had been right, the clothes were brand new and fit perfectly. He couldn't help feeling a bit overdressed, thanks to the slightly-less-than-noble manner to which he was accustomed. He could never remember his family being able to afford things like this, except to wear on special occasions, or when there was a visitor to impress. The black shoes were polished; his stockings and lace were pristinely white. The colors were a tad unusual by his standards. Trousers, vest, and coat were all a deep shade of violet, with lilac trim and leaves embroidered in gold thread. The shirt was a light tinted violet, shyly peeking out under the white lace. Whoever his new master was exactly, he must have had some money to throw around. Quickly checking to make sure he was all in order, he strode out the west door, trying to ignore the alien grace in his movements.   
  
The narrow corridor he emerged in was, to say the least, rather plain. To say the most, it was dark, oppressive, and wasn't an area Olrox wanted to spend too much time in. He was beginning to feel more than a little claustrophobic when he caught sight of a figure leaning against the wall about ten feet away. It was a woman, as far as Olrox could tell, for she wore a long, loose-fitting gown that pooled on the floor, with the sleeves a full fifteen inches too long for her arms. On top of this, she was covered with a shawl, not a bit of her face or hair could be seen. She looked like a pile of clothes, really.  
  
Olrox approached her tentatively and bowed. She nodded slightly in acknowledgement. Olrox broke the silence. "Are you here to take me to Vlad?" His etiquette was rather poor, but he really wasn't that worried about formalities-she couldn't have been, either, with the way she was acting: leaning against a wall without even putting out her hand.  
"I am, milord. Follow me, please." Without looking back, the Englishwoman strode off down the hall, Olrox in tow, her shoes making a delicate tip-tap on the stone. They went through several doors, up and down flights of stairs, and turned so many corners that Olrox had no idea what direction they were taking. His guide never stopped, never even slowed down; she kept up her quick pace, back straight as an arrow, never saying a word or glancing back to see if her charge was still with her. Olrox felt a bit snubbed. He was also getting the uneasiness of one who feels he is being watched.   
  
The Englishwoman suddenly stopped by an unassuming door and spun to face him. "The master's right through here, milord. Just walk in." As she was saying 'walk in' she herself had started to walk off down a different hallway, at the same pace she had had during their journey to the door. "Oh, um, thank you!" Olrox hurriedly called after her, with only the monotonous 'tip-tap' of her shoes as reply. Taking a deep breath and straightening himself once more, he gathered his composure and rapped the door with his knuckles. He was all at once nervous and self-conscious; interviews had never been comfortable things to get through...  
  
"The door's open," came the dispassionate summons.  
  
Olrox gently pushed the door open far enough to get inside, latching it softly behind him. He stood there a few moments, hands clasped behind his back so he wouldn't fidget, waiting politely to be noticed. Vlad was seated comfortably in one of two wingback armchairs near a small fireplace, reading a small, leather-bound book, long legs stretched out, ankles crossed, the unquestioned sovereign of the dusky little parlor. Glancing over the top of his book, he noticed Olrox standing in awkward silence near the door. "Ah! I was wondering when you'd come," he set down his book and lightly sprang from his seat. "You'll forgive my rudeness, of course; you see, I'm used to servants coming in at all hours of the day and night. Sit! Sit, we have much to discuss, I'm sure." Olrox nearly jumped at the abrupt command, and lost no time in complying, sitting in the chair opposite Vlad's. The man obviously didn't intend to waste any time. Vlad leaned back a bit in his own chair with a vague smile hovering on his lips. Olrox, on the other hand, wasn't even touching the back of the chair, sitting stiffly with his hands folded on his lap. After about three seconds of this, Olrox timidly began speaking. "I think I must have fallen ill the other evening," his gaze dropped to the floor under Vlad's stare. "I'm very sorry if I've inconvenienced or upset you in any way...I-"  
Vlad waved a hand dismissively and gave Olrox a mischievous smile. "Not at all." He leaned over, and, putting a hand under Olrox's chin, tilted his face up to make eye contact. "And it is considered customary to look at the person you are addressing, copil."  
Olrox knew he must be blushing right out to the tips of his ears. "Da domnule," he stammered.  
  
Releasing Olrox's face, Vlad leaned back again, reassuming his easy, comfortable air. "There's a good man. Relax; I won't bite." He chuckled good-naturedly and Olrox couldn't stop himself laughing nervously right along with him. It was likely as not the only thing that would keep him from sobbing instead. He discreetly rearranged himself as the other man had implied, endeavoring to 'relax' and coming up with a pretty amusing mimicry of that state of being.  
  
"Now that we are both in the room, perhaps it would be efficacious to speak about something." Vlad watched amusedly as the younger man looked at his folded hands for a moment and quirked one eyebrow as if to say 'About what?' "You slept well, I hope?"  
"Quite well."  
"You look better for the rest. Do the clothes fit properly?"  
"Perfectly. Thank you, sir. Though I'm a bit amazed at that..."  
"Oh, yes, the tailor took the liberty of taking your measurements while you slept."  
"Oh."   
"A bit crude, I'll admit, but you really couldn't be expected to wear your old things a minute longer than necessary."  
Olrox sat quietly for a moment, then, "Pardon me, but if it's all the same to you, I'd be very grateful if you'd tell me what I'm supposed to be doing here. I have entered into your service, haven't I?"  
Vlad smiled. "Yes, you have. Good. Now we can get to business. I for one am not a brilliant conversationalist." Olrox had an idea that Vlad had said that to cover for his own bumbling string of clipped answers that had served as conversation on his part, but didn't call attention to it. Vlad continued as they stood and walked towards the door. "But first, I think a visit to a specific part of the castle is in order. As we walk, I'd like for you to tell me anything about you that feels out of place." Olrox thought, 'So, I was ill...' However, Olrox was beginning to second-guess that hypothesis, for what illness makes you feel better and healthier than you would normally?   
  
"I'm not sure I can describe it. Everything is different, and yet...nothing's really changed, it's just..." Olrox looked up at Vlad, fumbling for words.   
  
Vlad winked ambiguously. "There are no words. I think you'll find that words fall short of many things." He continued walking, but Olrox stopped, annoyed, in the middle of the hall. His interrupted question from the day before came back to the front of his mind. The tone of his own voice surprised him. "Sir, with all due respect, I think I have been very patient thus far with my situation. I have gotten little more from you than meaningless statements and vague comments that I find extremely unnerving considering the fact that I am not familiar with you. If you jest, I assure you, it's in very poor taste." This seemed to surprise Vlad as well; he stopped in his tracks and turned to meet Olrox's stern glare. "Before I go any farther, I would like to know at least where we're going and your name. The only thing you've told me about yourself is that your first name is, supposedly, Vlad, while you seem to know a good deal more about me than most people. I would hate to think, sir, that you are taking advantage over my current state." It was a lovely speech, delivered in Olrox's best self-righteous-argument-with-Elie tone, and by the end, it appeared that Vlad didn't know whether to be shocked, angry, or start that damn smug laughing of his again.   
  
As it turned out, he did none of these. Vlad's face was completely devoid of expression, and he just stared at Olrox for a moment, as thought sizing him up. Olrox knew a try at intimidation when he saw one, living in a fairly quarrelsome family as he had, and he remained still as stone. He was not going to budge until he was treated with some dignity. Vlad began to close the distance between them, taking slow, purposeful strides, eyes locked with Olrox's. "Your...current...state." He spoke the words with a sort of contemptuous disbelief, rendered all the more poignant by his uncanny voice. Olrox once again found himself unable to look away. 'Shit...'   
  
"Your current state," Vlad continued, gaining volume before dropping to little more than a whisper as he stopped before Olrox. "And do you know what state that is?" Olrox was suddenly reminded of their conversation in his father's garden, this same tension. His voice was strangled in his throat. "I don't know." All the fight had been leeched out of him, it seemed. He found his gaze drifting off to the side to escape Vlad's stare, when the party in question took Olrox's face in his hands and forced him to look Vlad in the eyes. Olrox shivered. He knew his jawbone could be crushed on a whim, though it didn't make sense; at least, he didn't want it to make sense. "I haven't been sick at all, have I?"  
  
Vlad merely blinked, leaning in closer. Olrox whimpered as Vlad's grip tightened somewhat. He squeezed his eyes shut, making the voice that finally spoke seem even more ethereal. If he hadn't felt cool breath on his face, he'd have sworn it was only in his own head.   
  
"We are going," Vlad exerted careful control over his voice, "where I am taking you." Olrox felt a tear snake down his cheek. "I," Vlad raised his voice slightly, "am Vlad Tepes Dracula. And you," he parted Olrox's lips with his thumb, feeling the knife-sharp edge of one of the fang canines, "are going to cease deluding yourself." 


	6. Death of a Pariah

It's been called to my attention that I...sorta forgot any author's notes last chapter. Whoops. Lo siento, no puedo recuerdo mucho por la noche. Okay, the translations for the Romanian probably aren't exactly right, since my Slavic buddy isn't here to correct me. A copil is a child (doesn't he say that an awful lot? That'd piss me off after a while), and 'da domnule' is literally 'yes sir', though I'm not sure that's a phrase they use. For a Latin-based language, Romanian is really screwy.   
  
  
  
  
  
Olrox couldn't be certain how long they had been walking. Vlad seemed almost to be taking detours around much of the castle, sticking to seldom-used, dingy little passages that must have been put in as an afterthought. Olrox said nothing, following obediently. If this man...if this vampire was indeed Vlad the Impaler, and Olrox had been given little reason to doubt that claim, then being obstinate would certainly not be beneficial to his well-being. God knows the man had been terrifying enough as a human...  
  
He ran his tongue over his teeth for the umpteenth time, checking to see if the fangs were really there. He sighed as a small cut on his lip answered his question. He hadn't let himself notice them before, but now that they had been pointed out to him, he was painfully aware of them every moment. Something else he couldn't ignore was a steadily growing, nagging sort of discomfort. It seemed strongest in his chest, tightness, and the tips of his fingers tingled. He didn't like it at all; it was beginning to give him a headache. He sighed dejectedly and kept walking, taking no notice of his surroundings. Finally, the sound of Vlad's voice jarred him back into the world.  
  
"Beyond these doors lies the very center of the castle."   
  
Olrox looked up. Vlad was standing before two huge oak double doors. They were intricately carved with twining ivy, roses, and songbirds of at least a dozen kinds. Each one must have weighed hundreds of pounds. Vlad rested one hand on a large iron handle. "I have something for you," he said, and he gave the door a shove with his arm. It reluctantly swung open, creaking on its hinges. Vlad held out his arm, indicating that Olrox was to enter first. Olrox walked in cautiously, glancing about the room for anything that might catch him off his guard.   
  
The room itself appeared to be some sort of audience room: large, spacious, and sparsely furnished. Tall, narrow windows stretched up to the vaulted ceilings, wall sconces and torches glowed with a warm, barbaric light. Tapestries told the stories of long dead and unknown royals and nobility, knights in impractical armor, larger-than-life maidens lounged beside streams of faded thread. Everything looked old and neglected, even the burning sconces had remnants of cobwebs that hadn't yet been burned away. It must have been an audience room of some sort, for there was also a large, carved wooden chair on a raised dais on the rear wall. Curled up in the chair was a figure clothed in rags. Upon noticing her, Olrox took a few seconds to observe her, his mind immediately fascinated by the miserable little creature shivering across the room.   
  
She was small-it wasn't just the size of the chair making her seem so. Her undeveloped, angular body was achingly gaunt with malnutrition; only a slight bulge in her belly proved that she wasn't indeed a reanimated corpse. The girl's hair was greasy and full of snarls, her tattered garments and skin coated with grime. Her breath was raspy, and every few moments a deep cough seized her, doubling her over in pain. A low moan would follow these fits, then silence again. 'Looking at her, she could only be a...'  
  
"Harlot!" Olrox hissed lowly in disgust, springing back a step and running into Vlad. The vampire wrapped an arm around Olrox; softly, he said, "What's wrong, colpil, you don't approve of my present?"  
  
Still repulsed, yet now reminded of Vlad's recent and quite vehement warnings, Olrox spoke politely. "It is quite an unusual present, domnule."  
  
Vlad quietly chuckled. "Yes. Yes, she is. Why your contempt for this poor girl? Look at the state she is in; have you no compassion for her illness?" As if on cue, another coughing fit rattled the girl's lungs. The sound was heartbreaking.   
  
"She is a prostitute, and has received a fitting punishment for her ways."  
"Oh, listen to yourself, wise little child, who knows nothing of the world. What sane woman would choose such a life for herself? Humans. Humans did this to her, Olrox. They create monsters and then smugly condemn them. I will teach you this, and other lessons besides. For now, does not the lioness give her cubs weak prey before trying them on the strong?"  
  
Realization of what the girl's purpose was struck Olrox like a blow to the head. He gasped. "I will not. You cannot make me."  
  
Vlad released his grip and stepped forward, raising his voice above its former whisper. "I will not have to." At this, the head of the girl jerked up, and bleary eyes the color of muddy water fixed themselves on the two shapes hidden in the shadows. "It is only I, little dove. Don't be frightened." Vlad's voice was warm with supposed tenderness. "I've brought aide for you, just as I promised. Olrox!" Vlad threw a glance over his shoulder. No prodding would be necessary. The quickening of the girl's pulse had captured Olrox's attention; he walked toward her with feline grace, wide eyes locked on the human that was the source of that beautiful, rhythmic sound.   
  
Upon reaching the far end of the room, Vlad helped the girl to stand, though she leaned heavily on his arm. Up close, Olrox could see that she couldn't have been more than fourteen years of age, little more than a child. Her swollen stomach was also more noticeable now that she was standing. A pang of guilt and pity went through Olrox, and he hesitated.  
  
"The pneumonia will not let her survive the night," Vlad said, so quietly that the girl couldn't hear him. "She is in the throes of death even now." He shoved her at Olrox with such strength that she fairly flew. Instinctively, Olrox caught her before she could fall. She regarded him for a minute, gazing up at his face with delirious, watery eyes. She could have been pretty, but any fairness she might have had had been drained away along with her strength. The acrid smell of filth and dirt clung to her clothing and hair, and her brow glistened with sweat, burning with fever. "I want to go home," she croaked out. "It hurts..." On her breath, Olrox discerned the scent of blood from her violent cough. It was maddening. The sharp discomfort in him grew more urgent.  
  
What followed seemed to play out naturally, automatically, as though Olrox's body had simply grown impatient and taken matters into its own hands. In one motion, Olrox turned the girl's head to the left, sinking his fangs into the artery of her neck, with only a small cry from her, very much like the cry of a dove, as protest. For what seemed like eternity, Olrox was overcome, being swirled about in a sea of memory and emotion. The girl's childhood, disownment, and despair dashed against him like waves. Hunger, shame, pain, even the faces of a few friends, the ones who had spoken to her, given her food and drink, or those who had merely offered a kind smile, all swept over him. And it was all so incredibly wonderful, so paradisiacal, that when the blood began to falter, when the flow began to lessen, Olrox squeezed tighter, cracking bone, determined to stay like this as long as possible.   
  
But it was over. Two souls wrested themselves away, curling up like wisps of smoke from a snuffed candle. They dispersed and were gone. Two minutes of ecstasy, and Olrox now knelt on the floor, the cold shell fallen from his hands. He came back to himself as he felt new strength rushing through his veins, and he understood that the girl lay dead. He was mortified. 'How could I have done that? How could I have enjoyed it, what kind of monster am I?!'  
  
"I've killed her..." His voice trembled.  
  
He heard Vlad's soothing tones as he looked remorsefully on the slain young woman. "You were a kinder death to her than the one she would have faced alone, Olrox. Now they are both free."   
"I am a murderer."  
"You are a predator."  
  
Olrox shook his head, still focused on his victim. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder. Reluctantly, he rose and allowed Vlad to lead him from the room by a side door. With the ghastly scene out of view, Olrox closed his eyes and numbly stumbled through another maze of halls, guided by the arm of the older vampire. Gradually, he drifted off to sleep while walking, and vaguely felt himself scooped up and carried by Vlad before he succumbed to sleep entirely, his mournful thoughts still tormenting him. 


	7. Persistence of Memory

Ay! Tengo que hacer mucho tarea hoy! A four-day weekend, and I've wasted the whole damn thing! Notice how I keep doing this instead of homework...  
  
  
  
In visions of the dark night  
I have dream'd of joy departed-  
But a waking dream of life and light  
Hath left me broken-hearted.  
--Edgar Allen Poe, "A Dream"  
  
  
  
  
  
"Do you know why you're the only one of us with dark hair?"  
  
A seven-year-old Olrox looked up from the water of the small creek near the manor. His older brother, Alexandru, perched in a tree limb overhead. The small woods surrounding the stream provided some exquisite climbing trees, and also shade for the minnows, which darted through the shallow parts of the creek like quicksilver.   
  
"As if you'd know..." Olrox spat. He never really knew when Alex said something truthfully, or with the intent to be obnoxious.  
  
Alex hung upside-down by his legs. "You're not really our brother, you know."  
  
"Yes I am," Olrox retorted sullenly.  
  
A mischievous sparkle came into Alex's eyes. Once again, his brother had risen to the bait. "No, not really. Mother and Father bought you."  
  
"That's stupid..."  
  
A delighted giggle answered from the tree. "They did! They bought you from a band of gypsies. You just don't remember because you were too little."  
  
Olrox didn't find this the least bit funny. "They did NOT, Alex! You're a liar!"  
  
"Mother still has your gypsy clothes in a trunk; I've seen them myself."  
  
"No, you haven't because they're not there!"  
  
Alex cackled with mirth from the safety of the tree. "Gypsy!"  
  
Olrox snatched up a pinecone, stood, and whipped it at Alex's head. It ended up bouncing off a branch instead. "I'm NOT a gypsy!"  
  
"What's all this about gypsies?" Both Olrox and Alex looked at where the voice had come from, near some bushes downstream. Two figures emerged from the brush. It was Mihai, with Tatiana not too far behind. Mihai was twelve, practically a grown-up and the unquestioned leader of the siblings. He could settle this.  
  
"Mother didn't buy me from gypsies, did she?" Olrox's eyes brimmed with tears.  
  
"Did Alex tell you that?" Mihai shot a quick glare toward the tree. Olrox nodded. Mihai sighed, and laid a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder. "Or course she didn't buy you. You were born just like the rest of us. You should know not to listen to Alex by now."  
  
"It's not my fault he has no sense of humor!" Alex called down.  
  
What could have been an argument was diverted when Tatiana skipped between them, twirling her skirts and holding her shawl so that it looked like wings. "I'm a gypsy!" she announced in a singsong voice. Her vivid imagination had already embraced the idea.  
  
Alex sneered. "Gypsies don't have blonde hair, stupid."  
  
Hands akimbo, and quite annoyed at that remark, Tatiana looked up into the tree. "They MIGHT."  
  
Alex mimicked her tone. "They MIGHTN'T."  
  
Mihai ended it. "Alex, shut up; you don't know what you're talking about, anyway."  
  
Tatiana and Olrox smiled, and Tatiana stuck her tongue out at her petulant brother before dancing her way over to the other two. "If I can't have blonde hair, then I'll just turn it brown, like Olrox's."  
  
Alex sniggered. Mihai and Olrox sat down on the bank, and Olrox returned his attention to watching the minnows and trying to catch one in his hands, a futile endeavor. Tatiana took her shoes off, held her skirts out of the way with one hand, and began to daintily hop from rock to rock across the stream.  
  
"Careful, Tatiana," Mihai cautioned.  
  
Olrox added, "Mother's going to be mad at you if you get your dress wet, 'Ana."  
  
"I won't," Tatiana assured them. She climbed up a big rock in the middle of the stream and sat down on top of it. A beam of sunshine filtered down through the trees, making the crystalline water sparkle cheerfully and cast reflections on the rocks. Tatiana looked up into the beam of light and heaved a theatrical sigh. "I wish I were a mermaid."  
  
Mihai grinned. "I thought you wanted to be a gypsy." He was dutifully ignored.  
  
Alex poked his head through the foliage. "You're too ugly to be a mermaid, 'Ana."  
  
Tatiana made a face and went back to her daydreaming. Olrox spoke without looking up from the minnows, which still eluded him. "Would you live in the ocean, or in a river?" At ten and seven, Tatiana and Olrox were still young enough to appreciate the finer arts of playing make-believe.  
  
Tatiana grinned and shifted so she was sitting Indian-style. "Neither. I'd live right here in the stream, so you could visit me."  
  
Mihai quirked an eyebrow. "The creek's a little too small for a mermaid to fit in, I think."  
  
His younger sister shook her head patiently. "That's why I'd be a fairy-sized one. I'd have to have the wings, too, of course. That way, I could get up on top of the rocks to sun myself." She paused to yawn and stretch luxuriously, as a mermaid would.  
  
Alex piped up again. "A fairy-mermaid?! Sometimes I think you're wrong in the head..."  
  
The offended girl didn't even deign to look in her irritating brother's direction. "I'd turn you into a newt, too." She really should have been paying attention; if she had, she'd have noticed Alex take his shirt off and wriggle his way out over the middle of the water.  
  
"Newts like the water!" Alex screamed as he jumped off the branch. Tatiana cried out as she was drenched by the mighty splash. She glared daggers at Alex when he surfaced, who innocently spit water into her face. Mihai tried to stifle laughter while Olrox rolled on the ground, helpless with mirth at the sight of the bedraggled gypsy-fairy-mermaid.  
  
Tatiana stood up indignantly and made her way back to dry land. "You're horrid, Alex! A horrid, horrid, monstrous little boy! Father doesn't belt you enough!" On the shore, she wrung out her skirts and shawl, praying they'd air dry before anyone saw she'd gotten wet, shivering slightly from the frigid creek water.  
  
At a look from Mihai, Alex decided it would be a good idea to climb out as well and get dressed. He giggled evilly as he swam over, teeth chattering slightly. "It wouldn't matter. I don't even feel it anymore!"  
  
Olrox had given up on the minnows, and Mihai had informed the group that one of the barn cats had had kittens, so the band spent the rest of that day in the barn inundating themselves with hay, dirt, and the scent of animal sweat. As they headed inside for dinner, one of the housekeepers, a large, grandmotherly woman named Constanta, scolded them for coming in dirty. "Gracious, children! Look at you; you're absolutely filthy! One would think you were a bunch of ragamuffin gypsies!" She clicked her tongue reproachfully and bustled off down the hallway. Alex nudged Olrox with his shoulder, as much as to say 'See, eh? See? I told you.'  
  
  
  
"'Ana, WHY?"  
  
"Because it's important."  
  
"Why don't you just ask Mother?"  
  
"I will; I just want to get the idea first."   
  
"You already know how to braid!"  
  
"I know how to braid my own hair; doing someone else's is different. Now sit still! You're making it fall out."   
  
A twelve-year-old Olrox sat on the end of his sister's bed, getting his hair french-braided, and looking very put-upon. Tatiana would be leaving for France soon; their grandparents in England had scraped up money to enroll her in a convent school, insisting that she at least should get a formal education.   
  
"I do very nice braids on myself," Tatiana explained. "So, just in case anyone should ask me, I ought to be able to braid other girls' hair, too." Deciding to start over, she took the braid apart with her fingers and brushing it out.  
  
"Ouch!" Olrox nearly jumped. "That hurt!"  
  
"Oh, stop whining, you big baby; it's just a little tangle."  
  
With a little sigh, Olrox glumly sat still as the brush ripped his hair. Tatiana left in a week, so he supposed he should enjoy her company while it lasted, even if it was rather painful.  
  
"You'll visit?"  
  
Tatiana nodded, and then remembered that her brother wouldn't be able to see. "Yes. There's a long break over Christmas, just so the girls can go home."  
  
Olrox tried to mentally calculate how many days there were until Christmas, however, this seemed to make his head hurt (though it may just have been Tatiana and her ruthless hair brushing technique). He spoke again to take his mind off of the snapping, tearing noises coming from the back of his head. "Don't you dare forget to write to us. I'll write."  
  
Tatiana separated what was left of Olrox's hair and began a new braid. "Of course I'll write. I'll write every month, at least. If I'm REALLY lucky, I'll be able to read your handwriting."  
  
"There's nothing wrong with my handwriting..." Olrox replied in a small voice. He was answered by a derisive snort, heralding a temporary end to the conversation.   
  
  
  
A sixteen-year-old Olrox sat watching his brother pace. Mihai and Gabriela had been married for a little over a year, and were about to have their first child. Half the household had flocked to the east wing of the house where the couple lived, most of them were out in the hallway, or had wandered off to the kitchens to enjoy the impromptu break. The room adjacent to Gabriela's was where the immediate family had been corralled, including Mihai, who was told a bit brusquely by Constanta and Rosie, Mihai's mother, to keep out of the way.   
  
Olrox had been watching Mihai pace for a good thirty minutes, and he didn't know about Mihai, but he was getting rather dizzy. Alex had, up to this point, tried to ignore his older brother.   
  
"For Christ's sake, Mihai; sit down!"   
  
Mihai fell into the nearest chair, fingers drumming on the armrest. He wasn't a highly-strung man by nature, but today certainly seemed an exception. Elie sat nearby, looking highly amused. "I went through four of these, you know. It's over before you know it." It didn't seem that Mihai believed that sentiment.  
  
Alex stalked over to a table and poured a glass of brandy.   
  
"I really shouldn't be drinking right now, Alex."  
  
Alex snorted. "Who the hell said it was for you?" With that, he hooked back the liquor faster than was probably good for him and sat down, looking slightly sedated.  
  
Silence reigned for a few minutes. Olrox, wishing to mitigate his brother's anxiety, made the unusual attempt of starting a conversation. He said quietly, "Are you guessing she'll have a girl, or a boy?" (The female help, especially the older ones, had been prattling on for months, speculating on the gender of Gabriela's firstborn. One of the loudest had declared confidently that it was sure to be a boy, as Gabriela was 'carrying low.' Their curiosity thus piqued, Mihai and his brothers had carefully observed the poor expectant mother. After conferring, their verdict was quite succinctly summed up by Alex, who stated, "Well, damned if I know, it looks about the normal height to me." Baffled, the men abandoned their amateur dabbling to the household women, who obviously knew a great deal more about the unique science of 'pregnancy divination' than they.)  
  
Mihai shrugged, only half paying attention between glancing at the clock. "Doesn't matter." Elie nodded approvingly. Alex pondered for a moment.  
  
"If I had to have one," he said, "I think girls make less noise, generally speaking."  
  
Elie curled his lip, though he made an honest effort not to. "I shudder at the very notion of you with a child..."  
  
Miffed, but not going to let it show, Alex strode across the little sitting room and rested his hands against the back of Elie's chair, leaning over tauntingly. "Come now, Father; at your age an open window makes you shudder." The teasing smile of his childhood was now a galling smirk. Elie twisted and looked up at his son.   
  
"I'm not too old to teach you respect, Alexandru." He grinned and his eyes twinkled, framed by laugh lines. Knowing their father as they did, the young men knew he could very well follow through with what seemed like a joking threat. Not to be mistaken, Elie wasn't in the habit of beating his family, but in a house such as his, with children such as his, some arguments tended to be settled manually. In an act of great prudence, Alex winked, shrugged his shoulders in surrender, and went back to his own seat, closing his eyes and smoothing his beard in what appeared to be thought.  
  
Olrox sighed. It seemed impossible for peace to be kept between them for any length of time. Especially lately...  
  
Suddenly, Mihai leapt from his chair. "What's taking so long?!"  
  
Olrox and Alex both jumped in their seats. Elie started, but soon began laughing. "Give the poor woman some time, Mihai; it's only been an hour!"  
  
After that, nothing much happened, and Olrox gradually dozed off.  
  
  
  
He woke up slowly, rising from the depths of sleep to consciousness. Olrox was cold as ice, and curled up into a ball under the covers. The chill remained, and, much as he fought it, wakefulness was inexorably creeping up on him. 'It must have been the nightmare I had. Silly to think something like that could ever happen, I suppose, but it seemed so...' he threw the blankets off his head, to reveal a bed that most certainly was not his own.   
  
"...So real..." 


	8. Stranger in a Strange Land

Hmmm...Lessee....A description, huh? Well, an eenie-weenie little sprite isn't much to go on, so I'm figuring I can take significant artistic license here...(as can anyone else, obviously). The Olrox for this story is about 6' to 6'5", willowy, with an olive complexion (as a mortal, anyway), dark brown eyes, and dark brown hair that's sort of curly, but not really... You know, it's a lot easier to see him in my mind than to try to describe him. Oh well. Damn it, this story could go five different directions from here...And I can't remember how Olrox's Chambers were laid out, so I'm just making crap up.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
'I slept in my clothes again...'   
  
The only way Olrox could take his mind away from the events of the last few day (and thereby retain his sanity) was to concentrate on mundane trivialities. As he threw the covers off of his legs and swung them over the side of the bed, he'd noticed that not only was he wearing his shirt and pants, but his vest, coat, and boots also. The strange thing was: although he'd slept in them, they weren't wrinkled in the slightest, at least, nothing worse than he could smooth out with his hands. It was as though he'd never moved during the night. He stood and studied the room.  
  
It was different than the one he'd awoken in last time. The bedroom was larger, and the stone floor had been covered with marble. The furniture was all cherry hardwood. The bed itself had drapery of black crushed velvet, and diamonds had been sewn into the canopy to look like stars. A fire burned in the hearth, and Olrox sat on the hearthstones to warm himself. The constant coldness he felt was becoming tiresome very quickly. Two identical lamps rested on the carved mantelpiece, each one with a sitting lady holding a parasol and a man sitting beside her carved in relief out of ivory, and hung with teardrop emeralds and sapphires, so that, when lit, the lamp light would shine through them. Above the mantel, there was a painting of a foxhunt, with the tail of the fox just visible in the lower corner. It was startlingly realistic, the sheaves of grass, the creases in the riders' clothing, even the sweat gleaming on the horses looked believable unless studied closely. Then, of course, his improved vision ruined the illusion by showing him the individual brushstrokes and scratches, but it was very pretty nonetheless.   
  
The north wall contained a writing desk, a bookcase that appeared decidedly empty, and a tapestry. This was a bit perplexing. It depicted two men, probably in their early thirties, both in clothing and armor from what seemed to be the twelfth or thirteenth century. They were standing on a balcony or wall. The taller man was wearing a crown, or perhaps it was a helmet, that reminded Olrox of an upside-down acorn. Aside from the hair and eye color of jet black, the man looked almost exactly like Vlad. 'I suppose if the prince of Wallachia fought the Ottoman Empire, that would be the proper time period.' The human Vlad had softer features than the one Olrox knew; he almost looked kindly. The other man bore a startling resemblance to Olrox himself, only older. One gauntleted hand rested on the human Vlad's arm, while the other pointed off toward the horizon. The tapestry Olrox looked worried and tense, as though he was trying to explain something to Vlad. Vlad stood, arms crossed, peering off in the direction the tapestry Olrox was pointing attentively. He seemed calm and majestic, the very antithesis of his companion. Olrox carefully traced the threads of the wall hanging with his hand. The similarity between himself and the man in the tapestry was deeply disturbing, so he decided not to dwell on it for the moment.   
  
On the south wall was a wardrobe with drawers underneath, and beside it stood a washstand, which held a basin of black stone and a crystal pitcher. Above this hung a mirror of polished bronze. Olrox smoothed his hair, which had, once again, escaped the confines of its ribbon. Even in the gold tone of the bronze, his skin looked abnormally pale, right down to his lips, pale and bloodless looking. His hair, which now framed his face, had gotten slightly curlier, and subtle honey and red tones glinted through the predominant deep bay color. Compulsively, he bared his teeth.  
  
"Oh, God," Olrox whimpered. He turned away. There they had been, unmistakable. His canines were now around a half-inch long, smooth and sharp as tiny knives. Knowing they were there and seeing them were two entirely different things. Seeing himself as he now was, in fact, was intensely distressing. He looked as alien to himself as he felt. The thought of his fangs had also reminded him of his kill the day before. How could he have done something so savage? Leaning against the wardrobe and sliding to the floor, he stared glumly at the marble, at a loss of what to do.   
  
'This cannot possibly get any worse...I guess that should be some small comfort.'  
  
He remained like that for two hours, finally closing his eyes, when he heard someone walk into the room. 'I don't care...' A smart tip-tap of shoes suddenly stopped and a female voice spoke, very timidly. "Oh! Master...what...Is there anything the matter?"  
  
Olrox was not in a gentlemanly mood. "Go away."  
  
The maidservant seemed to hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to say. "Master Dracula expressed a wish to see you..." she stammered, obviously nervous, if not afraid of Olrox.  
  
Olrox snarled. "Then 'Master Dracula' can come here himself." His tone showed argument to be futile in his combative state. He never bothered to even look at the maid.  
  
"Please, Master Olrox..." she pleaded.   
  
This woman was becoming annoying. Olrox snapped his gaze up to her. "I said..." He couldn't finish the tirade. He stared at the maid with dropped jaw and eyes as wide as saucers.  
  
Standing in the middle of the room was a skeleton, wringing the bones of its hands.  
  
With an abrupt, frightened yelp, Olrox instinctively jumped, finding himself on top of the wardrobe. The skeleton let out a little cry and hurried through a door on the far end of the south wall, the bones of her feet heard tip-tapping through the room beyond. Though muffled, Olrox could make out words.  
  
"You there! Go fetch Master Dracula. Hurry! Don't stand there looking at me like a bloody fool, go!"  
  
Meanwhile, Olrox sat, back pressed against the wall, shivering and panting for breath. His mind reeled; this was too much. 'It can't be real. It simply can't be real! I've gone insane! Oh God in heaven, how could such a horror be suffered to exist?' He felt a tingling sensation crawl over his body, most strongly in his fingertips. He saw the skeleton return through the open doorway.  
  
Seeing Olrox on top of the wardrobe, a coiled viper, the skeleton tried to calm the panicked vampire. "I'm terribly sorry if I've startled you, Master," she began, deathly afraid of his reaction. He seemed paralyzed. She grew bolder. "I know everything here must be coming as a terrible fright." She took a step forward, her fatal error.   
  
That one step had done it. Incredibly quickly, electricity flew from Olrox's right hand, filling the room with blinding light and a sharp snap of static charge. The tingling sensation greatly lessened. Olrox sat still, eyes shut, in shock for just a moment. Tentatively, he opened his eyes. There lay the skeleton, on the floor, a jumbled pile of bones with no signs of movement. With a deep sigh, Olrox leaned back against to wall and ran a hand through his hair. What had just happened? 'How the hell did I do that? What the hell did I do, for that matter?' His thoughts were interrupted as he caught sight of Vlad entering through the same door that the skeleton had. He purposely ignored the unwelcome visitor.   
  
Vlad glanced at the pile of bones on the floor, then up to Olrox, inferring in a second what had transpired. With an irritated sigh, he said, "Olrox, what are you doing up there?"  
  
The fractious side of Olrox's personality bubbled to the surface. He snarled, "I hardly think that you are in a position to be asking questions of me, 'Master Dracula.'" Quick as a flash, Vlad had crossed the room and caught Olrox by the throat in one powerful hand, pulling him off the wardrobe to dangle from the elder vampire's grasp. Olrox gasped, clawing at Vlad's hand in an effort to ease the crushing pressure on his airway. His only protest besides a silent grimace was a tiny squeak.  
  
Vlad held Olrox up at arm's length, glaring steadily. His voice was slightly raised, his anger palpable. "I could have sworn that you had taken a snide tone with me. It is a very irritating bad habit of yours, copil, and very rude. If I were you, I would disabuse myself of it!" That said he unceremoniously dropped Olrox. The younger vampire landed on his knees and fell to all fours, drawing air into his lungs gratefully and gently rubbing his sore neck, which Vlad's fingers had deeply bruised, leaving slight dents in the flesh.   
  
After some thirty seconds, Olrox heard the rustle of material, and Vlad was on his knees beside him, pulling Olrox into an embrace. Stressed to exhaustion, Olrox sighed tiredly and relaxed, letting Vlad hold him upright. A hand stroked Olrox's hair, and some of his tension melted away. Never mind that that same hand had threatened to break his neck not a minute before, it was the first comfort since the whole nightmare had begun. Now he felt strangely protected. After a few minutes of this, Vlad spoke, so softly that Olrox wasn't sure whether he was hearing it, or if it was only in his own mind.   
  
"I'm sorry, Olrox. I'm sorry for losing my temper." Fingers brushed over Olrox's bruises, which, even in that short span, had lightened considerably. "It was so long ago...I keep forgetting how hard it was." Olrox couldn't manage an answer other than another mournful sigh. Vlad's voice assumed a reassuring quality. "You'll get used to it, eventually."  
  
Olrox shook his head, looking up at Vlad. "I don't WANT to get used to...to this!" He gestured toward the skeleton and dropped his gaze to the floor, continuing more quietly than he thought himself capable. "Would that I were dead! I cannot possibly live like this."   
  
"I think that you will surprise yourself." Vlad gave Olrox a brief squeeze, then stood, lifting Olrox to his feet as well, and pulled away. Olrox was a bit disappointed, and found himself missing his mother's slightly overenthusiastic English hugs. Even one of Alex's rough slaps on the back would have been cheering at the moment... His reminiscence was shattered once again by Vlad's voice. "I had wanted to show you around a bit and describe your duties to you, but if you are not up to it, I should let you rest."  
  
Olrox waved a hand dismissively. "No, go on. I must have something to occupy myself with, or I will go mad."  
  
Vlad smiled. "Good. I was hoping you'd say that." He walked silently through the south door, Olrox following, eyes downcast. They remained thus until Vlad had led them into a small study, probably one of dozens. Olrox woke up a bit and took note of his surroundings. This study was furnished in much the same way as its predecessor, if not in a bit better repair. Vlad bade Olrox sit down, while he flitted over to a desk and searched through a drawer full to the brim with papers of all sizes and description. With a small, triumphant sound, he found what he was looking for, and took a chair himself, handing a rolled paper to Olrox. Upon unrolling it, and figuring out which side was 'up,' Olrox saw that it was a map. A large cluster of rooms near the center was outlined with red ink. "That," Vlad said, "is a map of the third floor. I think you'll find it useful, at least until you learn the lay of the castle. The outlined area is yours, and you also have rooms on the second and first floors."  
  
"What do you mean, 'mine?'" Olrox didn't look up, endeavoring to memorize as much of the floor plan as he could.  
  
"Well, you know how a manor works, don't you?"  
  
"I was raised on one."  
  
"Of course. So you will understand this. This castle is so large; I can't manage it very well on my own. You can think of this place as a manor-one that is enclosed within a single building." Olrox nodded in comprehension. Vlad continued. "Instead of granting vassals land, I choose those of my servants that have proved themselves trustworthy and competent, and I assign them sections of the castle to govern for me." This all made sense enough. 'In fact, it's one of the few things that's made sense these past days.' Vlad explained further. "Up until now, this is what I have been doing: giving servants tracts of the castle, making them each answerable only to me. Unfortunately, the castle is so large that I have wound up with roughly two dozen overworked vassals beating down my door on top of all the other servants who are discontented with their overseers."  
  
Olrox jumped in. "Forgive me, but I fail to see how adding me to that number will help you in any way."  
  
"I was getting to that," Vlad said. "As you will discover, your area is only about half the size of the others'. I have taken rooms from their old domains to create yours in the hopes of relieving them of some of their responsibility. Further, I have established an overseer for each floor to which all others on that floor will report. The third floor is yours. You also have dominion over all overseers on the lower floors; you will answer only to me. I'm hoping that this will make life easier for all of us, and let me get something done besides settle disputes. You will handle complications from the lower vassals, and consult me if you can't reach a decision. Do you understand?"  
  
Olrox nodded and leaned back in his chair. "I believe so. It's enough to go on for now, I suppose."  
  
They talked over the details of Olrox's new position, and the castle in general, for hours, and Olrox was still hopelessly lost. The place seemed, to him, to be a nonsensical mishmash of various walking abominations from storybooks, but then, he was now an abomination from a storybook... Suddenly, Vlad started in his seat. "How long have we been talking?"   
  
Olrox shrugged. "I haven't been paying attention, to be honest."  
  
Vlad sighed. "Well, at any rate, I don't think I'll be able to show you your territory today. If I haven't missed it, I'll have an important meeting shortly..." Olrox wondered what sort of important meeting a vampire could possibly have; Vlad stood. "I deeply apologize. I shall lead you back to your chambers." After meandering through nondescript hallways (passing the odd skeleton, or bones thereof, slumped against the walls). Olrox stayed close to Vlad the entire way, lest one of them decide to jump him. At a door Olrox took to be his own, Vlad bid him farewell for the time being and turned to leave. Curiosity getting the best of him, Olrox called after Vlad. "Vlad?"  
  
Vlad stopped, cape swirling about his legs. He looked back over his shoulder.  
  
Olrox found himself afraid to ask his question, but something between his pride and the decidedly self-conscious feeling Vlad's gaze was giving him prompted him to throw caution to the wind and ask anyway. Still, he didn't sound as sure of himself as he wished. "Am...am I....Is this...," he gestured at the halls surrounding them. "...Why you brought me here?"  
  
Vlad looked thoughtful for a moment, as though wording his answer in his head. He glanced back at Olrox as he continued walking. "Partially."  
  
Quirking his eyebrow at that impossibly vague statement, Olrox turned the handle and entered his apartments. He hadn't had the chance to explore his own rooms, so he took this opportunity to do so. The first room was a short, nondescript hallway terminating in large double doors. They were oak, and were probably very heavy indeed. It was carved with trees, a willow on one door and an oak on the other; birds of different species roosted in the branches. After staring at it for a few minutes, trying to name the birds (which was abandoned, since half the birds were types he had never seen), he noticed that the trees had faces. Further inspection revealed bodies, hidden cunningly in the bark. The willow was a woman, wispy leaves cascading down as hair, arms outstretched as branches for the birds. The oak was male, and his arms also supported the birds. Both seemed very tranquil, as though they could stand there forever. 'Trees don't really move, of course...' The handles didn't turn, so Olrox simply set a shoulder to the willow door and gave it a shove. It opened fairly easily, a feat that was impressive, considering that the door must have weighed several hundred pounds.  
  
"Good heavens..." During their conversation, Vlad had comforted Olrox with regards to anything he might see wandering the halls. The elder vampire had insisted that, no matter how disturbing many of the inhabitants might appear, none of them were to be considered dangerous. The room he had emerged in was a large hall, with huge stained glass windows set in one wall. Gathered in this hall were what could be assumed to be humans, skeletons and horrible beasts of several varieties meandering from group to group, talking or fighting. A nervous sweat beaded Olrox's brow, and he trembled despite Vlad's words. He was about to quietly go back the way he came, and try to find another route to his rooms, when a skeleton caught sight of him, pointed indiscreetly, and said something to a rather large...canine sort of fellow nearby.   
  
"Oye! Shut up, you lot, damn ye!" bellowed the canine. Immediately, threats and obscenities were hurled at the speaker. The canine raised his voice and pointed at Olrox. "Still yer noise, you sorry sons a' bitches! It's Master Olrox!"  
  
A hush fell over the room as a hundred heads snapped to stare at Olrox. He flushed, and took a few steps out into the hall, letting the torchlight fall on him fully. 'What's so fascinating?'   
  
"Ah......Hello," Olrox couldn't believe that no one had endeavored to rip him to shreds. "I'm...just acquainting myself with the castle; pretend I'm not here." What a devious way to get out of speaking, and yet, not one of them moved. "You can go back to what you were doing." No response. Getting annoyed, Olrox turned the suggestion into a command. "Go about your business." Something in his tone must have had the desired effect, because the terrible occupants of the hall couldn't get back to their conversations quickly enough, though they sounded decidedly more guarded than before. Finding the windows to be the only comely things in the room, and a distraction from his fellow creatures, Olrox leant against a pillar, to study yet another object with his new eyes.   
  
They were simple enough windows, their sheer size made them unique, however. The first featured a group of angels, winged giants set in lead. One was in the foreground, robed in gold with pristine white wings. Its long hair was a frosty wheat color, the eyes, blue. It gently embraced a golden orb, as though carrying it through the air. The sister window showed the same angel, only this time, it knelt on a grassy hill, supporting itself with one arm. The wings, once white, were stained with blood and dirt, ripped and useless, hanging at the angel's sides. The joyous face was set in a look of shame; a tear trickled down its cheek. 'Windows are usually biblical, but I can't remember anything like this...'  
  
His ears hadn't been deaf while his eyes were occupied. Between appraising, fearful, or flirtatious glances his way, many of the conversations in the hall centered on him. Tuning out the other noise, he focused on one group nearby, never taking his eyes off of the windows.  
  
"So that's the Master's new pet, eh? Don't look like much to me..." a gruff, growling voice announced.  
  
A silky female voice joined in. "Speak for yourself. Why, I wouldn't mind tying him down and-"  
  
"Augh! Enough! No one needs the details, Sylvia!" the growling voice cut in. Olrox tried to control the blush creeping into his face. The female chuckled softly at her comrade's disgust. The growl retorted. "Besides, I doubt that the Master would be willing to share with you."  
  
'I resent that.' With that last statement, Olrox decided that he'd had enough company for one day. Looking at the floor, he stalked across the hall to a smaller set of doors at the far end. When he was about twenty feet from them, a new voice accosted him in thickly accented French, though what accent it was Olrox hadn't a clue. 'Perhaps I should pay a bit more attention.' Whoever it was had caught him off guard.  
  
"Excuse me."  
  
Olrox turned to see a tall, robed man with aquiline features and a rather prominent nose. His skin was coal black, as was his scruffy hair, and his almond-shaped eyes were a bright yellow, without whites. Olrox tried not to stare. "Yes?" He replied in French.  
  
The (quite literally) black man flashed a grin. "Ah, you speak French. It's been so hard to speak with others here." The man bowed stiffly at the waist, in a manner Olrox thought to be most odd. After blinking confusedly for a moment, the man laughed. "Oh. I am sorry. That isn't done here, is it?" The man held out his hand, and Olrox, just a bit hesitantly, shook it. 'If he'd meant bowing wasn't done, I could argue, but I haven't any idea what that was supposed to be.' "You are Olrox-sama, right?"   
  
"Uh...It's just Olrox, actually."  
  
The man blinked again. He reminded Olrox of a bird, like a parrot, or something of that nature. "That's what I said, wasn't it?"  
  
Olrox shook his head and forced a smile. "Never mind, it's not important. I don't believe I caught your name." Bird-brained as this strange person was, at least he was friendly, and he wasn't nearly as smelly or frightful as the other denizens of this hall.  
  
"Oh! I'm sorry; you didn't catch it because I didn't give it. Malphas Torio. I've only been here six months, so I'm very awkward."  
  
Olrox grinned, trying not to show his fangs. "You have found a sympathizer, Torio. I am awkward regardless of where I am or the time spent."   
  
'What a nice fellow.' Olrox opened the door leading into his bedroom. His conversation with Mr. Malphas had been rather pleasant. He had even overlooked, for a minute, the fact that they were both, to use a depressing term, he thought, hellspawn, and had enjoyed talking with someone who did not look as though he was about to try to bite off Olrox's arm. Torio called himself a 'tengu,' a bird spirit, and said that he had come here from Japan, which was right off the edge of the world in Olrox's estimation. The tengu was in charge of the northeast tower, wherever that was. Olrox crossed the room and experimentally opened a door on the north wall. It turned out to be a bath. 'Doesn't sound like a bad idea.' He had gotten a bit dusty in the castle corridors, many of which seemed sadly neglected, and the time spent in the hall where all those other monsters were had made him feel more than a little sullied. He made a mental note to avoid anyone named Slyvia. Peeling off the clothes he'd worn for two straight days (not that they smelled bad, but really...), he hung them up in the wardrobe.  
  
Olrox hadn't realized how cold he was until the hot water of the bath elicited a small yelp from him. He gratefully let the heat warm him, gazing lazily around the room. Instead of painted plaster, the room was tiled from floor to ceiling. The floor tiles resembled sand. The walls, instead of frescoes, were mosaic. Trees twisted upward towards the ceiling, branches hung with roses or heavy with blossoms. Birds hid in the trees or traversed the ceiling while flowers and animals peopled the ground. And there were three angels, there were always angels, it seemed. One was mostly obscured by trees, and looked as though he was walking away down some barely seen path. On the opposite wall, another perched in a tree. She was wearing a daisy chain around her head and weaving another, and a tiny bird sat on her left wing. On another wall, a yellow haired angel sat on a rock. After looking at it for a while, Olrox realized that it was the same angel as the one in the windows. This time, the angel was whole and happy, stroking the velvet nose of a doe with one hand; a daisy chain (no doubt given to him by his friend in the tree) dangled from his other wrist. A small, green snake curled slumbering around his shoulders, as though an ornament to the gold robes. 'I wish I could remember anything about that...' There had to be some significance to that particular angel; trivial as it was, it was something to pull Olrox's thoughts away from the present.   
  
Snagging a robe on the way out, Olrox walked back through his bedroom. On nearing the bed, he noticed another door on the east wall. It was small, easily overlooked. A different smell came from its direction; curious, Olrox tried the handle. It was unlocked, and opened easily.  
  
The Carpathian Mountains lifted their proud, snowy peaks to the sky for as far as the eye could see, glowing faintly in the pre-dawn light. Purple, green, and brown mingled with the gray of rocky crags, and a weak glint here and there denoted falling water. 'How far has he brought me? The mountains are away off in the east back home...' Olrox decided that he must be somewhere near Transylvania's eastern border to be this high in the Carpathians. It seemed an odd place to have a castle.  
  
Stepping out onto the small balcony, Olrox looked up at the fading stars, and watched the gathering warmth in the east staining the peaks' snow pink. He smiled. Seeing something of the real world again in what seemed ages was comforting, even as it assured Olrox that, if the mountains and sky were real, then so was everything else, fangs included. He admired the changing colors of the sky, and stifled a yawn.  
  
Shielding his eyes against the sudden brightness of the sun, Olrox basked in the light and warmth, too drowsy to panic when he sank to the floor, soon slipping into darkness. He lay, too weak to move, until sleep overcame him.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ha! That's right, Stoker's vampires (that's Dracula, kiddies) aren't killed by sunlight. Ha, I say! Don't believe me? Read Varney the Vampire, that fruit walks around slapping people upside the head in broad daylight. But I digress. I hope I didn't confuse anyone with Karasuman's little name change, but I couldn't really see a tengu walking around calling himself "Crow Man." It's a tad stupid. 


	9. Cry of Fear

Ay! Es horrible! Sorry this chapter is so short, I was really at a loss of where to go...I have it now, though. The next chapter should be better, since its main event has been floating around in my fevered brain for a while. :)  
  
  
  
  
  
-claustrophobia (klaws-tra-`fO-bi-a) n. (Med.): abnormal or morbid dread of being in closed or narrow spaces [L. "claustrum," bolt, Gk. "phobia," fear]  
  
  
  
  
  
"May all those things which have proceeded from the weakness of his mortal nature be consigned to oblivion, and be remitted unto him: Through His lovingkindness; through the prayers of our most holy, and blessed, and glorious Lady, the Mother of our Lord and ever-virgin Mary; of the holy, glorious and all-laudable Apostles, and of all Saints. Amen."  
  
Olrox jolted awake at the sound of Father Lucian's voice. How had he managed to fall asleep at a funeral? And for so long? He stood hastily to follow his family out of the church as they led the funeral procession, Elie, Mihai, and Alex themselves helping to bear the coffin. 'I've slept through the entire service; how embarrassing...'   
  
As the procession wound its way into the graveyard, Olrox tried to remember whom it was they were burying. He could think of no one. The deceased must have been someone of importance, though; most of the village along with the entire Trandafir household had come to pay their respects. 'But, respects to whom?' Slyly, Olrox attempted to get the name somehow from one of the mourners. "Surely, this man will be greatly missed." The woman next to him said nothing, not even glancing at him from behind her veil. Taking a closer look, Olrox recognized the woman as his sister, Tatiana. 'Never has she been so cold to me...' Hurt, but assuming that she was annoyed with him for sleeping through the funeral, Olrox made the rest of the brief journey in silence.  
  
The men carrying the coffin set it down gently in the grass beside the open grave, then dispersed to stand with their families. Olrox went to stand with his parents and brothers, deciding to give Tatiana a wide berth lest she become angrier with him. He looked at Mihai beside him, and at Mihai's wife and little Jenica, both veiled and somber.   
  
'I cannot mourn a stranger...' Whispering discreetly, Olrox felt his face flush as he said, "Mihai, who are we burying?" Mihai didn't answer Olrox or even stir, as though he hadn't heard him. Olrox looked at the ground. 'Doubtless he is annoyed with me as well.' A sudden thought came into his head. Olrox thought it ridiculous as soon as the idea formed, but found that he was going through with it despite himself. 'If no one will tell me, I will find out for myself...' As the rest of the mourners gathered around the grave's gaping maw, Olrox skirted around the crowd, walked up to the head of the grave-close enough to the priest to touch his robes-and knelt down to read the headstone.  
  
'4 February, 1767-15 July, 1787  
Aged 20 yrs., 5 mo., and 15 days  
Olrox Wythe Trandafir'  
  
'Whoever made the headstone made a mistake. I wonder why no one caught it...' Olrox had been frightened momentarily, but, he reasoned, 'I'm right here. And that poor soul is going to be buried with the wrong name on his headstone.'   
  
Walking back to his family, Olrox whispered in his father's ear, "They've got the wrong headstone there." He tried a smile. "Everyone's going to think I've passed away." Elie gave no response; he simply looked at the group of men lowering the coffin into the grave. "Father," Olrox repeated, "that man can't be buried under my own name; stop them. They can finish the burial when there's a new stone." Elie said nothing, didn't even look at Olrox. Olrox was becoming impatient. Striding back up to the edge of the grave, he said to the priest, "Father, that headstone bears my name." The priest opened his small book and began reading.  
  
"Open, O earth, and receive that, which was made from thee." Murmured 'amens' came from the crowd behind Olrox. Whirling to face the people, Olrox surprised himself by shouting. "Silence! They're not burying me!" Suddenly, somehow, there was an urgency to this whole doleful mistake. "I'm not dead," he said primly. "Everyone go home; Father, stop the interment."   
  
Father Lucian's voice droned on like a dirge. "The earth is the Lord's, and the fullness thereof: the round world, and they that dwell therein." He sprinkled oil on into the grave, and ashes from the cencer. "Stop!" Olrox growled, turning the priest so that the man faced him. "Stop at once, and send these vultures home."  
  
"With the souls of the righteous dead, give rest, O Saviour, to the soul of thy servant, preserving it unto the life of blessedness which is with thee, O thou who lovest mankind."  
  
Olrox pressed his hands to his ears in frustration. "Damn you!" He took hold of the priest's shoulders and started shaking him. "Damn you, be quiet! Stop it, stop it, STOP IT! For the love of God, stop!"   
  
Father Lucian only kept reading, in his monotonous voice, as though he were standing perfectly still. "In the place of thy rest, O Lord, where all thy Saints repose, give rest, also, to the soul of thy servant: For thou only lovest mankind."  
  
Disgusted, Olrox threw the aging man backward to the ground. The priest landed flat on his back, and, without even a pause, continued from his new position in the grass. Two men with shovels began filling the grave. "Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit."  
  
Olrox gave up on the priest and ran to one of the men, grabbing hold of the shovel, trying to wrench it from the man's hands. The man took no notice of Olrox, scooping dirt and throwing in onto the coffin. Releasing him, Olrox ran frantically back and forth alongside the grave, looking into it, not knowing what to do. A knot of panic twisted his stomach. He saw his little niece, Jenica, shyly come to the edge of the grave. She tossed a small pink rose onto the coffin with her chubby little fingers, blowing it a kiss. Then she said, in her clumsy child voice, "Interj, Unchi 'Rox."  
  
"Jenica, don't; it's not me!" Olrox cried desperately. The toddler turned on her heel, weaving through the sea of adults back to her mother, without so much as a look back.  
  
"Are you all mad? You all must be mad!" he yelled, waving his arms like a raving lunatic. "I'm alive! That's not me!" Once again, he tried to wrest the shovel away from the gravedigger. The man kept at his task, and Olrox was thrown off his balance by the motion of the shovel, landing hard in the grave. The edge of the coffin struck him painfully in the back. A shovel-full of dirt came down in his face. In a rage, he dashed it from his eyes, standing and shouting up at the crowd, that was singing soft hymns, "Curse you all! I'll show you if you don't believe me! I'm right here!" He threw dirt off of the coffin lid with his hands, pulling at the latches until they relented. "And this...damnable box...is...empty!" With a grunt of exertion, Olrox ripped the lid open, the nails popping out of the wood with sharp snaps. Olrox looked.  
  
Olrox screamed. The coffin was tenanted. Olrox's own corpse stared up at him with glassy eyes, gray skin already in decay. "No..." Olrox whispered, confused tears starting in his eyes.   
  
Without warning, the body leapt up from the coffin, catching hold of Olrox's throat and toppling him down into the box with it before Olrox even had time to jump back in fright. The lid slammed shut, and Olrox groaned at the overwhelming darkness and closeness of the coffin. The dead hand squeezed the air out of him.  
  
Terror flooded him, and, with a belated scream, Olrox fought his dead doppelganger, thrashing wildly and rending the hand with his nails. In desperate fury, he bit the arm, only to retch when a lump of muscle came off easily in his mouth, a putrid, soft mush. He pulled at the rotting hand with his own, tearing it off of his neck digit by digit, finally twisting it off at the wrist.  
  
The corpse moved no more, showed no sign of ever having moved. Olrox beat it with his fists and tried to crush it with his body, screaming like a stricken animal, the small coffin driving him to the brink of his reason. Above, the sound of dirt hitting the coffin continued, and with it, the words of Father Lucien.  
  
"Now, and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen." And the mourners answered, "Amen."  
  
Congealed blood make the corpse and coffin slick, and a foul-smelling, oily liquid bubbled and spurted up from the crushed chest, soaking Olrox's hands and sleeves up to his elbows. Eventually, Olrox's savage fear ran its course and ebbed away, leaving Olrox shaken and exhausted. The head and torso of the corpse-Olrox had been beaten into unrecognizable pulp, the limbs torn from the body and shredded like paper. Olrox spread his hands to find purchase on the slippery wood, unable to ignore the squelching noise and the feel of the greasy rot beneath him. The air was bad with the scent of it, and Olrox slammed against the coffin lid to open it. It wouldn't budge. Olrox realized, with a sharp, disbelieving cry that it had been locked and nailed shut again! Flipping over onto his back on the torn carcass, Olrox kicked and hit the lid, yelling and crying at the top of his lungs. "Open it! Let me out; I'm alive! Please let me out! Oh, God in Heaven, let me out!" Insects had gotten into his clothes, and worms and maggots as well. He could feel them moving, icy cold, against his skin, gnawing at him with unseen teeth. "I'm not dead! Please..." He collapsed into sobs and agonized wails as the sound of the shovel and the dirt continued in their damning rhythm.  
  
Then, it was as if an invisible noose tightened around him. Olrox's limbs were held immobile, his lungs refused to draw air, and he was left gasping silently in that dark, little coffin amongst his own shattered, putrefying remains. Muffled by earth, the priest closed the burial service, and the soft hymns were heard receding, the people leaving, his family leaving him alone with none but the sound of the gravedigger's shovel, and even that faded as the soil piled around the casket, an unbearable weight. The steadiness of the sound: scoop, fall, scoop, fall, was mocking him, and teasing him into trying to free himself. He could now only scrabble weakly at the lid.  
  
Father Lucien could barely be heard through the ground. "O Virgin alone Pure and Undefiled, who without seed didst bring forth God, pray thou unto him that his soul may be saved."  
  
It was over. All were leaving him! Suffocating, feeling his strength flowing away from him, Olrox took one last great breath of the noxious air and shrieked, "FATHER!" And he knew not whether he called for the priest, or Elie, or yet someone else...  
  
  
  
Olrox's eyes snapped open to total darkness. With a hoarse scream, he rammed upwards with the heels of his hands, and the scratched lid of the coffin fairly exploded upward, hitting the ceiling before it clattered back down. Olrox was already long out of that frightful box, staring at it with wide, horrified eyes, wondering if it would yet come at him to devour him. His heart beat so fast that he was certain it would burst, and his breath came in quick, shallow pants. 'Let me out. I must get out!'  
  
  
  
Vlad felt himself pulled from his death-like slumber. Annoyed at being awoken in the height of the day, he fixed a cold glare on the man holding his coffin lid open and staring down at him dumbly.  
  
"What do you want, Shaft?" he snapped.  
  
The old sorcerer shivered a bit, averting his gaze from Dracula's. "I was bade tell you that your new vampire has...has run away, Master..."  
  
Vlad sat up with a sigh and gracefully sprang from his coffin to land noiselessly on the stones. He straightened his clothing and said, deadpan, "Run away where?"   
  
Shaft swallowed and his mind whirled to form a pleasing answer. He had seen what happened when the brutal vampire decided to take out his anger on others. "We...I was only told of it, Sire. The sentry at his door thinks that he climbed down the wall, for he saw no one pass through the doors..." He would have said more, but Vlad was already walking away, headed for Olrox's chambers himself.  
  
  
  
Olrox wasn't sure how long he had been running, only that he was running obscenely quickly. He hardly felt his feet touch the ground as trees whipped past him in a blur; it was like flying. And he wasn't even tiring! He laughed softly. There was snow on the ground, but he didn't feel the cold. In panic to escape the castle, he had had such impatience that he had put on nothing but a pair of breeches. 'Better that then run through the forest naked as a barbarian would, though the cold does not bother me.' He grinned and pushed himself to run faster, springing over obstacles before he knew they were there. He was heading west, he knew exactly where he was going.  
  
  
  
"This was how I found the room, Master," explained the Valhalla knight that had been stationed outside the door of Olrox's bedchambers. "It was a little after noon, I think. I heard a blood-curdling scream, such as I haven't heard a man make in many decades. I haven't blood to curdle, so I came running in, and he was already gone, Sire."   
  
For the most part, Vlad ignored him, kneeling down to study the deep gouges that had been clawed into the lid of the coffin, which had been ripped from its hinges. All the months that Vlad had watched the Trandafirs, he had noticed many things, one of which being that Olrox was claustrophobic. Even narrow hallways made the young man uneasy. Vlad had assumed that the vampirism would have taken care of the problem; apparently, it hadn't. He himself felt on edge sleeping outside a coffin, and had surmised that all vampires needed the sense of security that a casket provided. 'I thought wrong.'   
  
Sighing, Vlad turned to the guard. "Did anything noteworthy happen today, besides this?"  
  
The skeletal knight nodded. "Yes, actually. Two of the servants found him sleeping outside on the balcony. They thought he'd be sunburned, so they carried him inside, and seeing as they'd just brought a coffin in for him anyway..." he trailed off with a slight gesture of his hand. "We've already sent out search parties for him, of course, Sire."  
  
Vlad waved dismissively. "Call them back. They'll be at it all year; I'll find him myself."  
  
"Are you sure, Ma-"  
  
"Do I sound UNSURE?!" Vlad's voice filled the room; golden eyes flashed dangerously. The guard timidly shook his head; No, he didn't sound unsure at all, not in the least.   
  
Vlad strode out onto the balcony, shielding his sensitive eyes from the sun with his hand until they adjusted to the harsh light. It was too high, and the drop too sheer to attempt going down the wall. A fall, while it couldn't kill a vampire, would be excruciating, and Vlad would likely break every bone in his body, and he couldn't very well track like that...However...Olrox had, allegedly, done it. During the day, a vampires powers go into dormancy, leaving him or her as strong as a slightly under-the-weather human. 'How did he descend a wall so high, then?' It could be that as an untried newborn, Olrox hadn't quite settled into his natural cycles yet. Accepting that as as good a theory as any, Vlad decided not to risk debilitating himself; he knew every corridor and chamber of his castle, and could be outside in minutes.  
  
  
  
Finally spent, Olrox leaned against a building, staying well out of sight of the villagers. Olrox had seen this town on a map before, and guessed he was about halfway home. He was elated. He couldn't have made better time on horseback! Well, not without killing the horse, leastways. Giving himself around an hour to rest, he could easily reach his destination before morning. Glancing down the alley in which he stood, Olrox watched the warm sun slip down below the horizon, staining the entire village in reds and purples. Yes, when he reached home...surely there had to be some cure for this...vampirism of his, and then he could get on with his life. 'And all of this will be as a bad dream. Perhaps I shall even look back and laugh upon it.'   
  
He was nearly ready to start moving again, when he noticed a familiar nagging sting in his heart, swimming out into his veins. He decided to ignore it. 'After all, with any luck, I'll be over this within a few days, and I'll never have to drink blood again.' He started off down the back streets toward the edge of the town at an easy lope.   
  
  
  
'Finally.' This day had seemed to take forever. Vlad had tried to sleep until sunset, but was too nervous even to lie still. Feeling a resurgence of energy in himself with the departure of the sun, Vlad closed his eyes, thought of running, following a trail. Bones and sinews shifted, shortened, stretched, and the enormous black wolf opened its gold eyes, taking in the busy sounds and scents of the night.  
  
Trotting to and fro near the castle walls, Vlad stumbled upon a faint scent in the loam and dirt. 'It's him...' The lupine worked his way toward the tree line, losing the trail now, picking it up again; it wavered, he picked it up once more. When he felt he had the strongest part of the scent, and had followed it forward through the trees for a good half-mile, Vlad raised a low, long howl. He waited as it carried on out over the trees. Shortly, a higher howl answered. Then another. Then three more. In minutes, a dozen voices rose over the forest in and eerie choir, no two wolves on the same pitch. Giving a shorter bark, Vlad moved on again at a quick trot through the underbrush, listening as his pack moved in at either side, always remaining a respectful distance from him, their alpha.  
  
Padding along silently, at an easy pace, Vlad knew that they could keep following him all night, if need be. 'And no doubt Olrox will get into some trouble, and I alone will not be able to defend him. He thinks his humans will welcome him back with open arms; he will have made a grave mistake...'   
  
Setting all troubling thoughts aside, Vlad devoted his entire attention to the track before him, with his pack sweeping along behind him in grim determination.  
  
  
  
  
  
interj-goodbye  
unchi-uncle  
'Rox-'Rox duh. Short for Olrox. 


	10. That Cruelty Which Yet is Love

Ah, dream too bright to last!  
Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise  
But to be overcast!  
A voice from out the Future cries,  
"Onward!"-but o'er the Past  
(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies   
Mute, motionless, aghast!  
  
-"To One in Paradise," Edgar Allen Poe  
  
  
  
  
  
Shivering, though he was, if anything, much warmer than he had been before, Olrox stared down at the drained body lying crumpled in the ditch. It had been a mistake to travel so near to the road.   
  
On setting out again, Olrox had decided to run with the road in sight, so as not to become lost. However, his strength was nothing compared to what it had been earlier, and worse, the tight pain in his chest became stronger with every step, until his whole body burned and his head swam. He had slowed to a stumbling walk, so pained and tense that he felt like a gun ready to fire. Olrox knew not why the hunger pangs came so fiercely now; it was as though some invisible force was pulling at his very blood. 'Only a few days...I must endure it...' But that was not to be.  
  
His ears caught the sound of footsteps, falling quietly in the downy snow. A gruff voice yelled wildly, and Olrox spun in time to see a rough-looking man charge him from the ditch, knife drawn and held low for a strike. Without thinking, Olrox dove at the man, sending them both tumbling head over heels into the ditch. In the fall and in the fray that followed, Olrox took a deep gash in his thigh, and another across his chest.   
  
Enraged with the sting of his injuries, Olrox twisted the man's wrist until it broke with a snap. Crying out, the man dropped his knife, and Olrox's fangs soon found their way to the unfortunate cur's throat. Olrox sighed blissfully as that pain that had been torture was washed away with new blood. It was nectar and ambrosia in his mouth, and it snaked it way through his body, manna from heaven to every tired fiber. His mind was snatched away and tossed about in a tempest of emotion, free from reason and sin, a madman's memories. The blood at first came too quickly for Olrox to swallow it all, and it dribbled down his chin and spattered his chest, drops sliding over the ugly pink line that had been a deep cut only minutes before.  
  
It hadn't lasted long, however, and now here he was. Thin tendrils of steam still rose from the blood spilled on the snow. 'What do I do now? I can't just...leave it here...' Espying the dead man's knife lying on the ground, Olrox was struck with a sudden idea. Taking the blade in his hand, Olrox knelt over the corpse and made a slice across the throat, marring the fang wounds so they wouldn't be seen. He then flung the knife as far as he could into the field. The cut throat oozed a little blood, but not enough to convince even the thickest peasant that the poor man had died of the injury. 'There's no help for it,' Olrox mused, 'the wolves may make proper work of it, though.' Inwardly, he shuddered at his coolness towards this, his second murder. As he began running again, this time keeping to the trees and fields (well away from the road), he set to work rationalizing what he had just done. 'He was insane and meant to kill me. It was only defense, any other man would have done the same.' This he knew to be only half true. The force that had moved him had not been self-preservation, but rather the instinct of the hunt. 'He was a dangerous rogue; none will miss him. In fact...whom might he have killed if he hadn't met with me? He'd have surely slain any hapless innocent traveling tonight; he deserves no pity...' After an uneasy moment, he pushed his last thought to the back of his mind. If a madman could have no mercy for his crimes, then what of Olrox, who killed knowing full well what he did? 'I must stop thinking, lest I drive myself as mad as that poor bastard lying in the ditch...' In the distance, he heard the howl of a wolf, and knew that his leftovers had been discovered. 'So much the better...'  
  
Full fed, Olrox was making better speed than he had even when he'd first started. It seemed, almost, that his feet barely brushed the ground. Olrox let his mind slip into the monotony of his movement, counting steps, heartbeats, and breaths--fogging the cold air with new warmth. The young vampire regretted now that he hadn't taken his victim's coat; the winter air seemed to prick his skin with tiny needles as he ran. 'It cannot be far now, at the rate I am going...'  
  
  
  
"D-damn this c-c-cold..." Mihai wrapped his scarf more tightly around his neck, trudging through a drift of snow. He had come out tonight under the pretense of hunting, saying that the snow would muffle his steps, and the deer would be easily seen in the full moon. His hand touched the pistol hanging at his belt; if he didn't find what he was looking for (and this he doubted), he ought to bring home something for all the worry these late night outings put his family through.   
  
'This is madness...' Everyone else had given up searching for Olrox long ago, accepting that, whether dead or run away, there was little they could do for him by now. 'After all, it has been months. Even if he lives, in this weather, even the wolves seek shelter...' He shivered as a light wind blew through the naked trees, stirring up snow around Mihai's feet. Still, he walked on, looking for...he didn't know, but he was looking. 'Anything, just so I know what happened that night...' Unlike most of the house, Mihai had been in a little storeroom near the back of the manor house, checking on certain supplies to see what was running low after the Jacques' visit. From there, he had heard a panicked scream from outside. By the time he had laid hands on a gun and made it to the trees behind the house, there was nothing. Try as he might, Mihai could find no tracks, no clothing, nothing. No sign of anyone. A chill ran up his spine, and he crossed himself, not knowing what had prompted him to do so. After that, he had gone back inside to tell Elie of what he'd heard, and soon enough, the gardens were swarming with curious and well-meaning servants, ruining any other chance of finding tracks. Olrox was nowhere to be found, and after weeks of fruitless searching, Mihai's parents had called the search off. Mihai had argued; he could still hear Alex's voice in his head, "If we haven't found him by now, Mihai, then he either doesn't want to be found, or," the slender man shrugged, "we could do nothing but bury the poor moron when we did." Mihai had said nothing more of the matter. 'Odd as he was, I miss him...'   
  
Their mother had lost something of her old vitality. It had always seemed that the years couldn't touch her; she had the same energy, the same sparkle in her eyes as when Mihai and his siblings had been children. Now, Rose Trandafir was beginning to look her age, the silver strands more noticeable against the fading gold of her hair, faint lines etching along her eyes, which weren't as bright as they should have been. Now and then, as she moved about her daily tasks, he could hear her sighing, or she would begin to talk to someone in English, before remembering and speaking Romanian. Whenever asked what troubled her, she would smile sadly and say, in her rich, lilting accent, "Oh, it is nothing. Homesick for England, I suppose; wet, rainy island that it was..." And nothing more. Elie, too, was more withdrawn, the lines of his own face more pronounced. 'They are no longer young...' Mihai sighed, willing himself to stop these depressing thoughts. He carried on looking for he knew not what for another hour, then, chilled through, turned back for home. 'I knew this was foolish; what did I expect to find?'  
  
  
  
Walking leisurely along the road, Vlad caught the scent of old blood. Quickening his pace, he soon came to a body in the ditch, rent apart by wolves with little left to call a body. There was, however, very little blood staining the snow, and Vlad knew at once who was responsible for that. 'I told him he would surprise himself...'   
  
Vlad had shifted back into his own form, letting the wolves follow the trail on their own while he took the opportunity to feed in the village. That done, he was content to follow the footprints of the pack instead of taking the energy and time to shift again. The few sets of prints that had led him here now swerved back into the fields to rejoin the main trail. Hearing howls, the vampire gathered that he wasn't far from Olrox now; Vlad ran, urged on by new blood and impatience and worry, white hair and black cloak streaming behind him.  
  
  
  
The house was in sight, though still at least a mile or two away, and Olrox nearly shouted for joy at seeing it, something he never thought he'd do. He was elated, and then, from a little distance ahead, Olrox heard the cry of a man and a gunshot echoed through the woods. 'Mihai!' He charged through the trees, the moonlight casting hard-edged shadows and lighting his way.  
  
  
  
The wolves had some suddenly and quietly. Hearing a lone howl, from alarmingly close by, Mihai had turned to it, pistol drawn. A wolf had jumped at him from the other direction, and Mihai barely had time to turn and shoot it; it would have been upon him a second later. He cried out as another wolf leapt at him, tearing a jagged wound down his left arm as he clubbed it unconscious with the butt of his pistol. He had brought only a few bullets; he couldn't afford to waste a single one. 'Though I doubt they'll do me much good anyway...' he thought grimly, dodging another wolf. The pack kept their distance for the most part, scared by the sight of the dead wolf bleeding at Mihai's feet, but Mihai knew better than to think they'd stay that way; he knew he was surrounded. 'They'll just take their time, and wear me down.' Frustrated tears slid down his cheeks as he turned in a slow circle, staring at the wolves. He hadn't seen a single deer; these animals must be desperate to choose a human as prey, and an armed one at that. 'Not armed for much longer,' Mihai observed as he shot down another of the beasts. Some of them growled fiercely, baring their long teeth. Others, like the one Mihai faced now, simply stared up at him calmly, intelligent yellow eyes glittering as if with mirth. Then, with a feral growl, a blur slammed into the very wolf that he'd been facing. The wolves yelped and scattered in terror as the caught wolf was thrown into the trunk of a tree. Mihai heard a crack, and the animal slumped down like a rag-doll, lifeless. But it wasn't the wolf that he stared at in open shock. It was his rescuer.  
  
  
  
Olrox paid no attention to the corpse slumped under the tree behind him. He stood, frozen under Mihai's gaze, at a loss for words. Mihai, for his part, looked much the same. His brother stood stunned, his weapon hanging loosely in one hand. Mihai's hair was in disarray from the fight, a straw-colored halo, and startled blue eyes stared at him, disbelieving. 'He looks more like mother than any of us...' Olrox's eyes lingered for a while on an alluring stripe of red that seeped through a tear on Mihai's coat sleeve. Olrox ducked his head in shame, fighting the hunger that sparked up in him and stepping a little farther back into the shadows.  
  
Mihai squinted and stepped forward tentatively. Finally, he found his voice and croaked out, "Olrox?" Olrox managed to make some small sound in the affirmative, and Mihai bounded over and pulled Olrox into a tight hug, like the ungainly, friendly dog he had seemed in their adolescence. Tears wet Olrox's face unchecked as he heard Mihai's own sobs. Olrox took in the scent of Mihai's coat. He was amazed at how many individual smells he could pick out. The woolen coat smelled of Mihai, and Jenica, pipe tobacco, Elie, Alex, Mother, home. He was safe and warm, and home. His ears sorted out the separate tones of Mihai's familiar voice.  
  
"Months! For months we've been worried sick over you, frate." The man's voice was shaky. Mihai seemed to notice for the first time that Olrox had no shoes, and, for that matter, no shirt. "Were you robbed, Olrox? You feel like ice..." Olrox stiffened somewhat, and it seemed Mihai did the same. "Why didn't you send word...all this time..."   
  
Olrox dared to speak, hoping against hope that his voice would sound normal. "I'm sorry, Mihai," he whispered into Mihai's coat; perhaps his brother wouldn't hear anything he oughtn't...  
  
He felt a shudder run through Mihai, and Olrox was shoved back from his brother's embrace. Mihai held him at arm's length for a moment, then, Mihai's eyes widened, and he recoiled with a cry as though he'd touched some diseased thing. 'He knows,' thought Olrox miserably. "I'm sorry, frate..." he murmured.  
  
  
  
Mihai was too mortified and confused to speak. He couldn't be sure what it was, but a wordless voice shouted in his mind that something was terribly wrong with his brother. Olrox's skin had always been as dark as their father's, now, it looked as though Olrox was as pale as the snow they stood in. One could certainly see that, too, as everything below the knee and above the waist had been exposed to the frigid air for God knows how long, and yet Olrox showed not the least sign of frostbite. A dark blaze of wavy hair spilled over Olrox's shoulders, and his eyes, which had always been so soft and kind, were hard chips of andradite and amethyst, burning with a strange light. He was one of Jenica's dolls, porcelain, too perfect to be real. 'Oh, God, that voice...those tears...' And then, Mihai had a revelation.  
  
  
  
"Forgive me, Mihai..."  
  
'Oh, God, these tears...' Olrox stared at the snow, where tiny scarlet drops fell and blossomed at his feet. Must everything about him now be so repulsive? He glanced up tentatively at Mihai, to find himself staring down the barrel of a pistol. "Stay back, vampire," Mihai stammered, trying to keep his voice even.  
  
"...Mihai?" Olrox pleaded, "Please, brother, I won't hurt you."  
  
Mihai stood, resolute, sighting along the gun barrel. "You're not my brother. My brother is dead." Tears filled the man's eyes once more.  
  
Olrox panicked. It was his nightmare all over again. "I'm not dead! I'm right here!"   
  
The human took two steps back. "Stop tormenting me, Satan! You may have my brother's form, but I know you are not he."  
  
Olrox glared. Of all the times for Mihai to be stupid...! "Are you mad, Mihai? I'm Olrox! Please, frate. Please, you must help me..." Olrox walked forward, all too aware of the unnatural grace in his movements.  
  
There was a brief flash, and a sharp clap of gunpowder ripped through the quiet night. Olrox was unprepared, and was knocked backward by a bullet that tore its way through his side to strike a tree behind him. He whimpered as he saw blood pouring out into the snow, feeling it like a thousand knives or fire lacing through his veins. Olrox gazed up at his brother in utter disbelief. 'He...he shot me!' "Mihai..."  
  
  
  
Mihai stared down at where the thing that looked and sounded so much like his brother knelt in the snow, stained by an ever-increasing circle of blood. He was unsure for a moment. 'It cannot be Olrox. Those...things don't have souls at all, and yet...' The look in the thing's eyes, the creature's voice-so entreating, so gentle. Olrox had never hurt anyone, why should he now? Mihai shook his head. He looked once again on the porcelain doll in Olrox's likeness. There was the bullet wound...growing smaller? Mihai gasped, then turned and ran, terrified. 'Tricks of the devil...Olrox is dead. Dead and gone, and that monster dares to use his corpse!' He sobbed for breath as he ran, his arm paining him. He shouldn't have come out tonight. He had learned too much, far too much...  
  
  
  
Olrox half-heard Mihai's steps in the snow as the man fled from him. He didn't raise his head again to watch his brother as they were parted forever. What would be the point...? 'He hates me. This isn't how I thought it would be...' Faintly, he heard also the low growls of wolves as they too watched Mihai's flight. Then, as though hearing a command, they fell silent and dispersed, loping off through the shadows to who knew where.   
  
"Olrox."  
  
Olrox stiffened at the voice. His own was acidic. "What do you want? Haven't you done enough for me?"   
  
  
  
The harsh words hit Vlad like a slap in the face, but he managed to keep himself under control, walking calmly through the snow that had been turned to ruby slush with blood. Olrox was weakened with blood loss; his body shuddered, fighting to hold the young vampire upright. 'It is fortunate he had the foresight to drink tonight...' Kneeling, he laid a hand, feather-light, on Olrox's shoulder.   
  
  
  
Olrox felt a cool hand and tensed. How dare he? 'How dare he even show his face after all he's put me through...!' A low growl rumbled in Olrox's throat. The encroaching hand was withdrawn with a weary sigh. Vlad spoke again, Olrox refused to look at his companion, staring at his blood in the snow. "I am truly sorry for this, copil. I thought that if I kept you away from them, you would be safe from them..."  
  
Olrox could still feel his abdomen knitting itself back together. He held his hand over the closing entry wound. "Safe?" Olrox echoed, as though the word was foreign and distasteful to him. "Safe from my own family?" Some strained thing in Olrox snapped, and he threw himself at Vlad, knocking the older vampire to the ground. Vlad had been caught unawares, and now lie still while Olrox screamed at him, as though the assault hadn't fazed him in the least. "This is all YOUR fault!" Olrox grabbed fistfuls of Vlad's coat, whacking Vlad's head against the frozen ground once with as much strength as he could muster. For just a moment, deadly rage flashed across Vlad's eyes, just as quickly, however, it was gone without a trace, and Vlad simply looked up in pity. This reaction only served to anger Olrox even more. "I hate you! It's your fault I'm like this! You tricked me! I killed a man on my way here. I killed him without a thought, as though he were a goddamn deer! Every waking moment, in my fucking DREAMS, I feel as though I'm steadily losing my mind, if I be not mad already!"  
  
Vlad sighed again, reached up and tucked a lock of dark hair behind Olrox's ear, despite a snarl of protest. "You're not mad, Olrox. This is all entirely real, and I promise you, in time you will see that what I have done is for the best."  
  
"For the best?!" Olrox released Vlad in disgust and turned away. "I'm a savage killer, and an abomination to God and nature! How the hell is that for the best?! If you had only left me alone..." Olrox trailed off, not knowing how to finish his thought.  
  
Vlad finished for him. "If I had left you alone, you would either be trapped in a marriage with that vapid Frenchwoman, or you would have run off to some strange city where you would have been perfectly free to work yourself to the bone for little more than table scraps, if you were lucky. I said a favor was owed to your family, and in time, you will see why I repaid them this way."  
  
Olrox hadn't really been listening. His fingers and his thoughts returned to the bullet hole in his side. "My own brother," he whispered, "I've never seen Mihai so much as strike another person in my entire life. I asked him for help, and he shot me..." He pressed his hand against the wound, now nearly closed, and felt another hand cover his. Olrox didn't bother to pull away; he lacked the energy he'd had only moments before. Vlad's voice was soft, unsteady, as though Vlad himself were hurting. "A wound such as this," the words washed over Olrox, uncommonly tender. "A wound such as this runs deep, and never entirely heals."   
  
Olrox glared up at Vlad's face, but his voice lacked its former sting. "You've no right to speak of Mihai and me; you know nothing of this."   
  
Vlad offered a wan smile. "I don't? You sound so certain; it is well that I call you copil, Olrox. Betrayal and sorrow I am quite familiar with." He remained silent for a minute. Bloody tears gathered in Olrox's eyes and Vlad pulled him into an embrace. Olrox broke; he hid his face against Vlad's chest and wept in despair. He wept that the last words he'd said to his father had been hateful; he wept that he'd run straight from his home into the waiting arms of a vampire. He wept the harder that he'd killed two people out of his new hunger for blood, and that he'd forever lost his humanity...that Mihai had proven. The creature that had wrought Olrox's destruction now held him, Vlad's cloak shielding Olrox from the cold breeze. A hand stroked his windblown hair, smoothing it back into place. Eventually, even Olrox's tears grew weary, and he sat in silence.  
  
"Your brother is right, Olrox." Unwelcome as the statement was, Olrox couldn't help but listen. "You are dead to them; you are beyond their grasp now. You too must put them aside and leave them. They are as the grass, withering after only a short time, and their world is one of futility and death." Vlad's uncanny voice lowered until it was as mere breath. He tilted Olrox's chin up to find his eyes, holding them. "I freed you from that world. By my very blood I bought you from death. And you are joined to me, blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh, my beloved copil. No man, woman, or child will ever love you as I love you, Olrox."  
  
Olrox stared up at the face of his master. The snowy locks of hair had been stained red by the tainted snow, painting crimson streaks across Vlad's face, yet the eyes held him in thrall just as they had on their first meeting. Even as Olrox spoke, in scarce more than a whisper, he could not avert his gaze from those unreadable eyes. "I hate you," Olrox said, his throat tight with pent-up sobs. Vlad leaned down to kiss Olrox's forehead. A cool sigh tickled Olrox's skin as the older vampire answered.  
  
"I know."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Hooray! Let's hear it for writer's block! At the most inopportune of times! Oh, poor Olrox got beaten up rather badly in this chapter. Muahahaha...child's play...  
frate=brother, but you already had that figured out, right? ;)  
Andradite is a type of garnet that can occur in a very lovely shade of deep brown. 


	11. Homecoming

You know, I really wish this thing actually showed up in the Castlevania section. Does this sort of thing happen to a lot of people, I wonder? Huh...  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The night was all but spent. Olrox sat in the snow watching as Vlad worked industriously at a particularly large, acceptably hidden snowdrift. He carefully formed the drift into an overhang, scooping out the middle so that when he was finished, it was not unlike a small cave. Dusting snow from his clothing, Vlad returned to Olrox and helped him stand. "Come; we mustn't travel by day."  
  
Olrox allowed himself to be led by the elder vampire, willing movement with no small amount of protest from his body. His heart especially pained him, as though it was disgusted by being left with such little blood. When they stopped, Olrox looked up from the ground. "A bit old to be playing in the snow, aren't you?" Olrox's voice was hoarse, his throat too sore to speak comfortably.  
  
"Winter trees provide no shelter, and you will need rest," Vlad replied patiently. Vlad felt a shudder run down Olrox's spine before the blood-caked vampire pulled away.  
  
"In there?"  
  
Vlad nodded slightly. Olrox kept his eyes locked on the snow cave, his voice trembling, "Please...I...I can't...I..." Vlad walked to him and put an arm around Olrox's shoulders, the smaller vampire still staring toward the drift in dread, shivering.  
  
"It is only snow, Olrox. You cannot sleep in the open, or you will be burned, and that is not a pleasant experience. However," he drew Olrox's gaze upward with that word, "if you wish, you may fall asleep outside."   
  
Olrox felt a tad patronized, but took the out that was offered. He nodded, "Thank you." Vlad eased Olrox down to the ground again, setting off for the huge bloodstain left not far away. Olrox was in too much pain and was too miserable to really care what Vlad did in his absence, though he assumed that any evidence of their being there was being dutifully erased. 'Poor Mihai, no one will believe him...'   
  
The deep blue of the sky gradually turned to twilight as the stars were extinguished. Before the yellows and pinks of the new day had gathered in the east, Olrox felt a welcome drowsiness come over him. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and was pulled from sleep momentarily. Vlad stood, listening to the creaking of tree boughs and gazing at the growing dawn. Olrox shut his eyes against the light, hearing clumps of snow falling to the ground and early wisps of birdsong.  
  
  
  
After the sunrise had ended, Vlad turned back to the silent young one. Olrox was fast asleep in the snow, his chest rising and falling seldom and shallowly. A fond smile passed briefly over his face as he looked on his child in repose. 'He is still so weak; he seems almost sickly.' On an impulse, he took a kerchief from his pocket and cleaned Olrox's face of the red tear tracks that marred it, and arranged the mussed, dark hair out of perfectionism. 'A seraph.... He bears such a strong likeness...' Lifting Olrox gently, trying not to wake him, Vlad set him at the back of the little enclosure of snow. He then slid inside himself, cautiously, lest their fragile roof become a blanket. There was barely space enough; Vlad managed to cover them both a bit with his cape, turned his back to the opening, and was soon asleep himself.  
  
  
  
Olrox dreamed. That alone was unusual, but the dream itself was more so. He felt as though he had no body, simply hovering over two people. It was like watching a play. He realized, startled, that the people he saw were none other than the figures in the tapestry: the raven-haired Vlad, and the care-worn Olrox. They sat at a large table; from the looks of it they were stragglers after a large number of people had eaten and left. They appeared to be talking, and if Olrox thought about it, he found that he could hear them.  
  
  
  
Vlad sighed as he sipped wine. How did Simu always manage to corner him like this? If that man's loyalty had not been tested a hundred times over, Vlad would have had him executed long ago for the questions he asked...  
  
"You said that you would use corpses."  
  
Another sigh. 'He doesn't understand. He is too soft for war...' "They were corpses."  
  
"At the end!" Simu's glare wasn't met. "Vlad, why was it necessary? Corpses would have worked just as well!"  
  
Vlad was tempted to say: They don't writhe or scream, do they? He decided the joke would not be appreciated. "Was it necessary, Simu? You saw their army. They all turned and fled, even the sultan himself. Turks would be sitting here drinking this wine and you and I would be dead, my friend, if I had not done what I did."  
  
"Still, you have only bought us a little time, at the expense of twenty thousand of your own people."  
  
For just a moment, Olrox saw a field of death. Acre upon acre of pikes stood upright in the ground, and men, women, and children lay dead or dying, impaled upon them. Those still alive gasped and jumped weakly, unable to speed or slow their end. Mothers and small children shared pikes, dead muscles twitching. Birds of prey and wolves picked apart the feast set before them, mercifully dispatching those they found alive. Then, after a second, the grisly vision faded, and Olrox was back in the hall, over the table and its occupants.  
  
"They were criminals, traitors, and parasites, all of them. Rest assured, I saw that no innocents met with those poles. The sacrifice was well made if it has given the town and army a chance to retreat to safer ground." Vlad rubbed his temples. He could feel a headache coming on, starting behind his eyes and wrapping all the way around to the back of his head.  
  
Simu's stern voice fell like hammers on Vlad's ears. "But it could have been done without such needless cruelty! You tried to keep them alive as you made that...atrocity in the fields. The Turks will not be put off for long, and when they do come, it will be all the more fiercely now that they bear that murderous scene in their minds!" Simu paused; Vlad prayed that he would say no more and let the matter go, but the words came again, encouraging the throbbing pain in Vlad's head. "And don't feed me that shit about criminals. I haven't seen a nursing babe yet who did anything warranting the punishment you gave them. Why, most of them were younger than your own children!"  
  
"Or yours!" Vlad barked, meeting Simu's glare with a far colder one of his own. "What should I have done with the diseased wretches, Olrox?! They would not have seen next winter! I grow weary of your attitude of late; perhaps I should mete out a chastisement to match your own and put you in your place!"  
  
Simu wilted under his prince's anger, nodding in understanding and heaving a shaky sigh. Vlad softened somewhat, turning his eyes to stare at the table, awkward at his outburst. "You try me, Simu," he said wearily, "but I don't think I could hurt you; even if you were a traitor, I would not impale you as I have lesser felons."  
  
Simu smiled grimly, relaxing into his chair and looking up at the ceiling. Olrox felt as though he was looking right into his eyes. "No, Vlad, you would make sure I met with far worse dooms than a pale if you found me treacherous. Forget not that I know you."  
  
Vlad gulped the rest of his wine, grinning roguishly. "Are you afraid of me, Simu?" he asked softly. It was a question and answer exchanged often between them, especially when Vlad sought to lighten the conversation or steer away from a sore subject. He awaited the answer: I fear you, but I am not afraid of you, my prince. Simu was silent at his side, swirling the wine in his own chalice, but not drinking. Finally, the answer came, and Vlad had to strain his ears to hear it.  
  
"Yes, my prince."  
  
A long silence followed. Finally, Vlad stood and started for the door at the end of the hall. His captain followed obediently, and Olrox hovered over his mirror image. Vlad laid a hand on the door handle and looked back at Simu. "How many men would you say are still here?"  
  
Simu replied at once, "Not many; two or three hundred." Vlad nodded.   
  
"They must be ready to march by tomorrow morning. At daybreak we make for the fortress at Poenari."  
  
Simu bowed and turned to leave through a different door. "Da, domnule."  
  
  
  
Olrox awoke to the feeling of being surrounded by...something. Opening his eyes in alarm he saw nothing. Something lay over him, but it had almost no weight to it, and was cold. Flicking his tongue out experimentally, he had his answer. 'Snow. How could I forget?' Sitting up, he shook his face free of the snow and glanced up at Vlad, already awake, who was combing snow out of his own hair with his fingers. Vlad's face was a slightly darker tint than usual; Olrox noticed that his own skin was tender and sore, darkened.  
  
Vlad spoke. "The snow wasn't as wet as I thought; I'm afraid some sunlight managed to get through. You would have burned yourself sometime or another."   
  
The bullet wounds in Olrox's side had fully healed over the day, but his body ached with hunger. He tried to ignore it as he pulled himself to his feet. Vlad studied him distantly for a moment and sighed. "I don't wish to tire you unnecessarily, so you are going to ride until we reach the village."   
  
Olrox gazed at him in confusion. "We don't have a horse." Vlad shot him a cold look, then closed his eyes. At first, Olrox thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, but no, Vlad was growing shorter, darker, his face lengthening into a dangerous muzzle. The changes accelerated, white fur pushing through fabric, replacing it. In less than a minute, Vlad was gone, and in his place stood a gigantic wolf. Realization followed on the heels of shock as Olrox saw the purpose of the animal. "...Oh." Carefully, a little fearful of the beast before him, Olrox climbed onto its back, folding his feet up under him so they wouldn't get in the way. This was almost unneeded; the wolf stood as high off the ground as a small pony. With fingers full of thick fur, Olrox held onto the wolf's scruff, leaning forward so that his weight was over Vlad's shoulders. The wolf took off at a brisk trot, avoiding most of the low growth and bushes for the sake of Olrox's hurting skin.  
  
Olrox lost himself in monotony for an hour or so, counting heartbeats, his breaths, the wolf's breaths, the wolf's steps, wondering how many miles they had covered in this way. Vlad moved as quickly as he dared without losing his rider. Olrox's mind kept moving in boring circles, but always it came to rest on his dream. He couldn't explain what had brought it on; it wasn't a normal dream at all. Dreams were supposed to be a bit nonsensical at least, but his had been so...ordinary. Two people talking. It could easily have happened. And then there was the field. It had only been for an instant, and yet it had been engraved in Olrox's mind, as a glaringly bright object remains on the eyelids after they are closed. As ghastly and terrible as that field of pales had been, it too was entirely possible. Olrox had never seen an impalement; it wasn't done anymore, so he couldn't base his vision on a troubled imagination. The whole thing was disquieting, and Olrox resolved to ask Vlad about the tapestry at the next opportunity.   
  
The lights of the village broke into Olrox's thoughts, but Vlad veered off from it, circling around to a field some distance from the village's fringe and far from the road. Here he stopped, placing a small buckle in the ground between them and the village, and Olrox took that as a sign to dismount. The wolf began to change, reversing this time, until Vlad knelt in the snow again. He unhooked his cloak and laid it about Olrox's shoulders, making the younger vampire wince as the material rubbed against his burnt skin. "Stay here," he said in a low voice, his tone conveying that Olrox would be wise to obey. Vlad then headed toward the village, moving swiftly and cautiously. Olrox let Vlad go about his business and lay back on the snow, admiring the stars.   
  
His mind was still reeling over the events of the past nights. A pain that was not hunger was added to his heart as he thought of his brother. He had been in sight of the house; he had been home, putting this nightmare behind him for a scant few seconds. 'That didn't last long, did it? Look what it's gotten me.' His hand drifted to his left side, the skin smooth, the muscle flawless, as though they had never heard of lead. He curled his lip in a snarl, glaring down at the unoffending area reproachfully. He should have lost a kidney and his life to a wound like that, but here he was, and no trace of the shot was left. He pushed that small matter aside, musing over Mihai (the scent of whom still clinging to Olrox's skin), and Vlad's change into the wolf, and the fact that it was now winter, despite Olrox being certain that it had been early autumn no more than a week ago. 'How long must I have slept, I wonder?'  
  
A dull thud beside him announced Vlad's return. "Drink," the elder commanded blandly, and Olrox looked at the crumpled heap lying at Vlad's feet. He heard a strong heartbeat, maddening. Olrox turned the figure onto its back to discover that it was a man, not much older than himself. Placing a hand behind the man's head, Olrox felt the beginning of a lump: Vlad had made sure the human would make no betraying noises. For one who had been bludgeoned unconscious, the man's face was serene, and Olrox felt compelled by something, holding off his hunger. He laid his cheek against the man's, letting warm breath tickle his ear, replacing Mihai's fading scent with that of this human's. 'A bath wouldn't have been uncalled for with this one,' Olrox thought amusedly, but the smell didn't bother him in the least.  
  
"Hurry up, copil," Vlad said impatiently. Olrox mentally balked at the interruption, but being reminded of the sharp pain coursing through him, Olrox moved down to the human's throat, his fangs piercing the artery effortlessly. He gasped as the hot blood poured out into his mouth, an ecstasy he would never grow accustomed to; he drank as one who was dying of thirst, gently cradling the human, the crunch of breaking ribs going unheeded. When the flood of emotion and blood had ceased and Olrox held a dead shell, Vlad grabbed the body away, ripping a gash along its throat with his fangs, and tossing it to the ground like a used rag. Olrox felt a twinge of anger at the disrespect shown to Nick's remains, but said nothing.   
  
Olrox stood, stretching a bit, feeling worlds better. Vlad had already begun walking; Olrox wrapped the cloak about his shoulders carefully and followed. When Vlad saw that Olrox was more or less caught up with him, he sped up to a run. The younger followed suit, and thus they traveled, with few words, stopping to rest for one more day and reaching Castle Dracula the next night.  
  
Olrox entered the castle rather sullenly, reluctant to enter his prison again after living out in the world for three nights. Vlad's slowed to a brisk walk, his face expressionless. They went by the main corridors of the castle now, rather than the hidden side hallways. Walking beside him on the twisting, turning path that led ever inward through the castle, Olrox became uneasy. Now that the crisis and danger were past, Vlad likely wasn't too pleased with Olrox's sudden disappearance. His thoughts proved true when, after several minute's silence, Vlad spoke.  
  
"And what, pray tell, did you intend to accomplish with that little outing of yours?"  
  
Olrox winced; when Elie was angry with him, his father had always raised his voice, and his face reflected his anger. His new 'father' was a calm sea, keeping his displeasure under careful control; it was an unsettling change. Olrox knew not how to answer; he had fled in panic, or madness, without knowing where he was going until over an hour had passed. He hardly saw how accurate his chosen reply was until long after he voiced it. "I just...wanted to leave. I am a prisoner here." No sooner had he said the words, than Vlad had spun in his tracks, gripping Olrox's sunburnt arms, making the younger gasp as pain coursed through the sore limbs.  
  
"Ungrateful, thankless wretch!" Vlad barked, his voice, all the more eerie when raised, echoing in the hallway. "I freed you! I took you away from a world of suffering and death! Who are you to throw such a gift back in my face?" Olrox flinched under Vlad's glare and harsh voice, trying to twist out of his grip. This only enraged the elder vampire further; he slammed Olrox against the wall, hitting the younger's head against the stones and digging his nails into the flesh of Olrox's arms. Olrox let out a short cry of pain before locking his gaze with Vlad's. The vampire's face was transformed in his fury, his wide eyes blazing and his teeth bared. He looked more beast than man. "Why do you shy away from me like a craven human?" he shouted, the echoes filling the enclosed hallway. "I shall give you a reason!"   
  
Without further warning, Vlad punched Olrox hard in the stomach, making Olrox double over in pain, the wind knocked from him. Almost immediately after, Olrox received a vicious uppercut to his chin, snapping his head back into the wall again. Stars danced before his vision as he dodged the next punch Vlad threw. He broke away from the wall and ran, only taking a few steps. Vlad was faster, throwing Olrox off balance with his momentum while raking his nails down Olrox's arms. 'Ah, damn it, it hurts!' Olrox charged forward, trying to force his attacker back. Vlad crouched low, a well-aimed kick sweeping Olrox's legs out from under him; he hit the stones tailbone first. Olrox arched his back, screaming as an insistent pain shot up his spine. Vlad stomped on Olrox's chest, boxed his 'child's' ears once, then pinned him, kneeling on his aching chest and holding his wrists out of the way with crushing strength.   
  
Everything hurt, and Olrox looked up at Vlad through a red haze that grew thicker and darker as his concussion caught up with him. A shudder ran through his body as he felt Vlad scrape his fangs ever so lightly along Olrox's throat. Olrox slid down into sleep, and terrified, fought to keep consciousness, though it was a lost battle already. He could barely make out the bleary, red-tinted shape above him as Vlad stared into his failing eyes. Vlad's voice assailed Olrox's bleeding ears, causing his head to spin even more. "Are you afraid of me, copil?"  
  
"Yes..." Olrox croaked, the world darkening.  
  
"Not enough."  
  
  
  
Vlad felt Olrox go limp and stood, looking on the young vampire without pity. The wounds would heal; perhaps Vlad had knocked some sense into him. 'He is willful and rebellious; I will remedy that if it takes me a thousand years.' Lifting Olrox's prone form, he slung him over one shoulder and continued down the hallway to his audience room. He had important matters to discuss, and the hunt for his wayward child had cost valuable time. Finding a suitable servant on his way back to his section of the castle, Vlad stopped him and handed Olrox to the surprised creature. Sensing a question about to be voiced, Vlad spoke first.  
  
"Take Sir Olrox to his chambers to recuperate; I've no time to deal with him."  
  
  
  
The tengu watched, dumbstruck, as the vampire continued on his way without so much as waiting for an answer. After Lord Dracula was out of sight, Torio noticed that his passenger had been slowly sliding downwards and was on the verge of being dropped. He reestablished his hold on his superior in a rather novel fashion, albeit with such an amount of hopping on one foot and cursing he was thankful no one of rank was around to witness him. With Olrox cradled more or less securely, Torio started off for the vampire's rooms. The bird spirit didn't know much of vampires, but he had seen how fast one could heal. Though any open wounds were closed, the back of Olrox's head was sticky, and his hair matted with blood. His face, arms, and chest were one meandering bruise, an ugly black and purple expanse. 'He's taken a beating, and recently...'  
  
Upon reaching his destination, Torio was spotted by a skeleton cleaning in the corridor. With a maternal instinct which even death had not snuffed out, she hovered constantly around the two, asking questions about which Torio hadn't the foggiest notion and generally getting in the way for a few minutes. Finally getting a good look at Olrox's injuries when he was laid out on his bed, she bustled off, returning shortly with a basin of hot water and a cloth. At her request, Torio lifted Olrox slightly to let her clean his head injuries. He watched as she made a quick check over the bruises that ran across his body, her gaze (if empty eye sockets could gaze) rested at last on a growing bruise on Olrox's right shin.  
  
"I don't like the looks of that one," she said officiously, "but all in all, vampires doctor themselves; he'll be set to rights in a few days, the poor dear." She had considerately spoken French, her first attempts at communication having been met with a blank stare. The skeleton left the room to get back to her duties. Torio thought it would be a good idea for him to do the same, covering Olrox with a blanket before leaving. 


	12. Seducing the Infidel

'Well, welcome back, I suppose...' Olrox looked down at his double as Simu spoke agitatedly with a messenger. Olrox caught the conversation in the middle of Simu's sentence.  
  
"...is HE doing here?"  
  
The messenger squirmed uncomfortably, not realizing that it was a rhetorical question. "I...don't know, Sir Olrox. Shall we..." the man made a gesture with his hand, "take care of them?"  
  
Simu waved a hand. "That would be unnecessary and monumentally foolish. Just..." he sighed, "Just send him in. I'll find out what he's up to." The messenger bowed and left the room. Simu fell into a chair, running a hand through his hair to untangle it and settle his nerves. 'Of all the emissaries of the sultan, I have to talk to this vile creature...'   
  
Simu didn't bother to rise as his visitor was shown in without an announcement. Glowering up at the man, Simu could see the family resemblance. Wide eyes framed by long lashes, curling black hair, aquiline features, just like Vlad's. But where Vlad was sturdily built, his younger brother was slender, taller. Radu the Handsome, general of Sultan Mehmed, crossed the room and bowed gracefully, removing his turban with flourish.   
  
"Sir Olrox, your praises are sung throughout this countryside; it is an honor to finally meet you," he said, his voice silky and dripping with honey.  
  
Simu wasn't impressed. He'd heard flattery before. "Aren't you supposed to touch your forehead to the floor as well?" he replied, and Radu's face fell, just for an instant. "Sit," Simu said flatly.  
  
Radu grinned and complied. From the chair opposite Simu, he studied the other discreetly from under his lashes. For his part, Simu did much the same, trying to guess at what the youngest Dracula would try to say. Radu didn't act like any Turk Simu had met before, probably because he wasn't one; he was...courtly. 'No,unctuous. I mustn't let my guard down.'  
  
"Now, what business do you have here, General?"  
  
"Surely, no one could say that you are a cruel or inhumane man, Sir Olrox. And to serve my brother for so many years without harm must take a great deal of wisdom..."  
  
"Come to the point," Simu snapped.  
  
Radu raised one eyebrow, the impish grin never wavering. "Faith, my lord, you are impatient. Do you treat all your guests with such rudeness?"  
  
Simu quelled the sudden urge to snatch up a fire iron and beat the insolent traitor with it repeatedly. "You are no guest here; my time is not yours to waste."  
  
The young general shrugged, pausing to collect his thoughts. Simu could see that he was being scrutinized with no small amount of irritation. 'Ah, so I am not so weak as you thought me?' Then, Radu seemed to find his voice. His demeanor became more somber in moments.  
  
"Being my brother's second in command, I trust you were at the capital?" His tone was explanation enough for the statement.  
  
Simu hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. Yes, I was there." He hadn't intended his voice to shake so.  
  
Leaning forward in his chair, Radu spoke again. "Then you saw," he said, "what we all saw." Once again, Simu nodded, not trusting his voice. "I have known Vlad longer than anyone living," said Radu, "but even I...even I never suspected him capable of such an abomination as that field." He leaned back and closed his eyes with a despairing sigh. "In coming here, I have heard stories. I realize that stories are not to be wholly trusted, but there is a grain of truth in every lie. They say that there was a golden chalice, a very fine one, set up beside one of the wells near to the capital for several years, do you know of it?"  
  
"I have not heard of this chalice of yours," Simu replied warily. 'There must be some reason for these ramblings...'  
  
Radu waved a hand dismissively. "It is no matter. This chalice, the man who told the tale to me said that it had set on the edge of the well for several years, and that in all the years it was there, no one, however desperate they might have been, dared to steal it."   
  
"It is certainly an embellishment," consented Simu, "though it is true that crimes are severely punished in these lands."  
  
Radu glared, sending an icy chill up its recipient's spine. "I hardly think death by impalement a fitting punishment for petty thievery, do you?"  
  
Simu was fast becoming very uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. He fought to steady his voice, speaking in a level, measured tone at last. "Come to your point, domnule."  
  
Much to Simu's surprise, Radu actually knelt at the side of the knight's chair, taking one of Simu's hands in both his own. "You know what I would ask of you," the general whispered, smothering his voice so that none listening at the door might hear. Simu paled by degrees as Radu went on. "Sultan Mehmed would shelter your family, of course. They would be safe as the very stars in the sky." Simu felt tears prick at his eyes, but by a tremendous feat of will they remained unshed. Radu continued, though his captive audience was only half-listening. "Our homeland is being ravaged by famine and suffering because of this war. It is pointless; the empire will win eventually. Why not have it done with, quickly, and save our people sooner? With you at Mehmed's side, my brother could be swiftly deposed, and you will have lifted from this country a yolk of terror and death!"   
  
Simu gazed incredulously at the bold general, who seemed so certain that Simu would agree and betray his prince without a second thought. 'He is a fool. I could kill him for his words. Why did I fear him?' And yet, the young Dracula's words still twisted and wormed their way through Simu's mind. Was Vlad truly a tyrant? Was he so savage? Doubt gnawing at his heart. His memory went back to the field on that day. Before his mind's eye were too many faces to count, all of them twisted into horrible masks of anguish, glassy eyes dumbly staring at the victims around them. Simu remembered the piercing screams of the dying, and even worse were the occasional low, despairing wails that made his skin crawl. 'None deserve that death... No! He is only exploiting a weakness. I will not be duped so quickly by this traitor.'   
  
"I cannot. You know this. Even if I were to agree, and follow the sultan, Wallachia would not suffer to be ruled by Turks."  
  
Radu's voice softened, cajoling, nearly a purr. "And why would the Wallachians be ruled by a Turk, when one of their own will be high in Mehmed's favor?" Simu shivered as Radu turned over the knight's hand and kissed the palm with rather more familiarity than etiquette allowed. Radu seemed to enjoy the slight blush he'd caused immensely, and kept speaking. The tones had a hypnotic quality now to Simu's confused mind, caught off guard by an entirely unexpected action.  
  
"It is you, Simu, who has held your country together all these dreary, long years. Your people, our people, love you as much as they fear my brother. Why dwell forever in the shadow of a madman?"  
  
Simu started out of what could only have been described as a trance. He'd felt breath on his face, focusing his eyes and finding Radu's face alarmingly near to his own, so close in fact that their noses touched. "Please reconsider," the young general whispered, lifting a hand and tracing his finger down Simu's jawbone.  
  
Simu panicked.  
  
Standing so abruptly that Radu was actually thrown off balance and knocked onto his backside, Simu looked down at the Dracula for a single moment before panic was replaced by rage. With unusual strength, Simu grabbed a fistful of cloth from Radu's collar, half-lifting the taller man. "If you ever touch me like that again," Simu growled, "I'll have you quartered and sent back to your sultan in pieces!"  
  
Radu met Simu's hard glare evenly, his face betraying no emotion other than a bit of surprise at the sudden outburst. "I have no doubt that you would," he said, without a trace of humor. Simu regained control over himself and dropped Radu back to the floor. He gazed down at the ambassador, who didn't bother to stand, before turning away and crossing the small room to look out the window. The sun was just setting, the last deep orange rays bathing the countryside in a warm, tired glow. 'Have we been speaking this long?'   
  
Olrox's attention shifted back to Radu, still sulking on the floor, his face all but hidden entirely by his black hair. Olrox could still see one cunning green eye flashing as Radu glanced about the room. 'He's thinking,' Olrox mused, somehow moving closer to the floor. Radu's mouth was set in a hard line, thin lips pressed together. 'He's angry, too. He must be used to having his own way.' Suddenly, the visible eye glinted, the mouth twitched upward slightly before breaking into a sardonic smirk.   
  
"You are indeed very loyal to my brother. I'm having more difficulty persuading you than I'd thought," Radu put emphasis on his next words, "But how loyal, do you suppose, is Vlad to you?"  
  
Simu continued to stare out the window. "I don't know what you're talking about, poponar."  
  
The younger man clicked his tongue reproachfully. "There's no need to be childish. I only asked a question. You, Sir Olrox, are willing to kill, and die, for this man," he cocked his head to one side a bit, as though he couldn't fathom such a notion, "Would he do the same for you?"  
  
This time, Simu did face his questioner, tossing the question back to its author. "Would Mehmed act so toward you?"  
  
"I will die for no one; Mehmed knows and understands this. I would not ask of him what I wouldn't do myself," Radu replied calmly. "You have not answered me."  
  
"Nor will I," Simu snapped. He went back to watching the changing light, trying to make sense of Radu's meandering questions and wheedling words. 'He hasn't spoken to Vlad in years; he doesn't know his brother as well as he claims. Besides, the leader of a people can't throw his life away on account of one other...' A soft voice stirred him from his thoughts, as Radu found yet another argument.  
  
"He will become paranoid, you know. If he begins to feel threatened, he will find a reason for it, or invent one if no reason exists. I know this from experience."  
  
Simu shook his head. "It's been a long time since you've so much as looked upon him; you were children when you parted ways."  
  
"And the man is no different from the boy, it seems to me. That field and the fear pervading this land prove it." He paused, letting his words sink in. Then, very softly, he went on, his eyes glittering in triumph. "What if he begins to mistrust you?"  
  
That remark sent a little shudder through Simu's heart, calling to mind Vlad's hot-blooded threat two weeks ago. "I've given my prince no reason to doubt me," he said a little too quickly.  
  
Olrox could have sworn that Radu had to fight down laughter as he answered, taking on the smooth tones he'd used when he'd first entered the room. "Oh? Are you sure? You've spoken to me, that is enough to warrant suspicion. Or punishment." Radu smiled broadly. "Fraternizing with the enemy is a very serious thing for a high-ranking officer to be caught up in."  
  
Simu wished he were wearing his sword. He spun, endeavoring to keep himself from shouting. "I sincerely hope you're not threatening me in my own fortress, domnule!"  
  
Radu made a placating gesture. "I do not threaten. I only warn." Simu glared and turned back to the window.   
  
"Perhaps it is time for you to leave."  
  
Radu ignored this. "What might he do to you if he found out about our little conference? He will, you know. My visit will surely be a topic of discussion among your men for some time. And Vlad is very quick to jump to conclusions," he pushed. Simu made a point of not paying attention. Radu twirled a lock of hair as he kept speaking. "What would he do? Of course, he'd kill you, but he could go about it many ways. There is the obvious impalement. I can see he's very skilled at that; he makes sure death takes days." He saw Simu visibly shiver, and stood slowly. "But I'm certain he could come up with other reprimands for a former friend. If he thought you earned it, and he will, he wouldn't hesitate to rip out your eyes, mutilate you, skin you...bury you alive, maybe?" It was Radu's turn to sound unsteady as he said the last words.   
  
Simu glanced over his shoulder; Radu's face was entirely serious, deadpan. "Do you think," Simu said, "I don't know what he could do? You forget that I need not rely on rumor to know of these things."  
  
"Then put a stop to it."  
  
"It isn't that simple. My leaving will only complicate matters."  
  
The ambassador of the sultan looked at the floor for a short time, not raising his eyes again. "What of your family, Sir Olrox, if you should incur Vlad's wrath?"  
  
"Stop," Simu growled softly.  
  
Radu only raised his voice. "Would they share your fate, your wife and your little daughters? Women and children were certainly not absent from that forest of the impaled. He will be merciless." Radu could see that he had gone too far before he'd even finished speaking. Cold hatred radiated from Simu's eyes and voice.  
  
"You snake," he hissed, "Dishonorable, simpering liar! Leave, before I kill you!"  
  
Radu seemed to quiver with pent-up anger and frustration as he rewound his turban, his purpose failed. "Sultan Mehmed will be very displeased," he stammered.  
  
Glaring still, Simu moved to the door, unlatching it as Radu reached it. "Yes, I'm sure he will. You had best run and tell him of my refusal. Besides," he added with unmasked contempt, "the sultan must miss his favorite whore by now."  
  
Radu froze in his tracks, staring open-mouthed at Simu in an unusual mix of shock and the rage that accompanies sorely hurt pride. He found his voice in an instant. "I was foolish to think you were any better than my brother. I hope he kills you," he spat.  
  
"Du-te dracului, domnule," Simu spat right back. He then held the door open, bowing with great flourish. Radu shot a truly dangerous glare his way before reassuming a mask of nonchalance and gliding out the door without a look back.  
  
Closing the door, Simu slumped against it, the long tenseness of his mind seeming to take physical toll as well. Tears slid down his face and he sighed wearily. His exhausted mind still repeated the mantra it had adopted from his first sight of the young Dracula, 'He lies, he lies, he lies, he lies...And if he doesn't?' If Radu was in the right, Simu was damned. 'But he isn't. He can't be...' The last dying rays of the setting sun poured through the window, bathing everything in red light. Simu looked at his hands as they replaced the latch on the door. 'Bloodstained...'   
  
  
  
Olrox woke with an echo of his double's former shiver. 'What does it all mean?' He wasn't in a particularly pensive mood, however, so he stored the memory of the dream away for later and turned his thoughts to a body that was most assuredly making itself known. He was sore from head to foot, especially his head; he'd never felt it ache so. He was also filthy and half-naked, something that irritated him quite a bit.   
  
Gingerly, he eased himself to a sitting position. The instant his feet hit the floor, an abrupt, sharp pain flowed up his leg. He cried out, the leg failed him, and Olrox found himself facedown on the floor. 'God, what now?' Very slowly and carefully, he turned over and sat up, looking at the offending appendage. A deep black bruise stretched from his right ankle all the way up to the knee, highlighting the smaller shinbone. 'Broken...' A spark of anger flared in him. "Fuck!" he shouted impulsively, feeling strangely relieved.  
  
Not long after that, Olrox heard the distinctive 'tip-tap' of a skeleton approaching. The worthy creature soon appeared in the flesh (figuratively), with what seemed to be a shocked expression. "Merciful heavens! I suppose you're awake already, Master Olrox. Goodness, but that was loud!" Had his leg not been distracting him, Olrox probably would have found something surreally amusing in being scolded for foul language by a skeleton. He heard he her make a disapproving clicking noise as she drew closer. Olrox didn't panic as he had during his first encounter with such a monster, having come to the realization that he wasn't very much better.   
  
"You put weight on it, didn't you?" the skeleton clucked. "You silly thing! Not even you can mend a break in fifteen minutes, Master." She turned to leave again. "You just wait here and don't move."  
  
"Why?" Olrox croaked, his throat hoarse.  
  
The skeleton answered patiently, "So I can find help lifting you, Master. I'm not strong enough to get you back into bed by myself." Olrox nodded dumbly, letting the maid go. Alone again, he sat in a daze. His whole body was terribly sore, to the point of making him gasp with every attempt at movement. 'Why did he explode like that?' Olrox had never been beaten before; he had trouble getting his mind around it. Sure, he had fought with his father often, sometimes it had come to blows. But they were fair blows, and Elie never purposely tried to harm any of his sons. The battering he'd sustained from Vlad had been entirely different. Olrox hadn't been able to defend himself, and Vlad had hit to injure, as the ugly bruises marching their way over Olrox's vaguely darkened skin testified. Dried blood still clung to his ears and matted his hair. And hadn't it been only two nights ago when Vlad had assured Olrox that he was treasured over every other being in the older vampire's heart? 'Why, then?'  
  
Olrox was sunk in these gloomy reflections when the 'tip-tap' of bones sounded in the other room, along with another, quieter pair. And voices.   
  
"What, so I carried him to his rooms and now I'm his nurse?" complained a man's voice in French.  
  
"I didn't know who else to ask, Master," answered the skeleton.  
  
Olrox didn't bother looking up to greet the visitor. So wrapped up in his own thoughts was he, in fact, that it wasn't until he felt arms around his aching chest that he was pulled back into reality.  
  
"Au!" Olrox yelped before he could stop himself.  
  
"Sorry! Sorry, but I have to get hold of you somehow," the voice soothed. Trying again, with Olrox helping with his good leg, the helper managed to get the vampire off the floor and back onto the bed. Olrox arranged his limbs in such a way as caused the least discomfort.  
  
"You know, you're as heavy as you look, Olrox-sama."  
  
Recognizing the voice at last, Olrox turned to get a proper look at his 'rescuer.' "Thank you, Torio."  
  
The tengu smiled amiably. "It's no trouble, Olrox-sama."  
  
"It's just 'Olrox,' actually."  
  
"That's what I said, wasn't it?"  
  
And so began another lengthy conversation. Olrox was glad for the diversion Torio's company offered from his aches, and more importantly, from his own dismal musings.  
  
"How is your territory faring while you're here entertaining me?" Olrox asked after some time had passed. The tengu paused, as though extremely confused by the question.   
  
"Oh," he said, "the birds take care of things when I'm gone, generally. They're very bright," Torio added proudly.  
  
"Birds?"  
  
"Well, yes. Ravens and crows, mostly. I'm a bird spirit, after all."  
  
"Ah."  
  
And so hours passed, and the dream, with all the questions it raised, was pushed to the back of Olrox's mind. Torio didn't leave until near dawn, saying that he for one needed to get a bit of sleep or he'd be a wreck later on. Olrox agreed with this sentiment as the sun peeked over the horizon, shedding no light into the closed bedchamber. It lost none of its potency, however, gently but firmly pulling Olrox down into sleep.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Jeez! I just can't write this month. This chapter took FOREVER! And it still isn't very good, but it's not going to get much better. I'm going to try picking up the pace a bit so I can get to the Rondo of Blood time-thingy. Okay, the Romanian was pretty easy this time, I thought.  
Du-te dracului-- go to hell (not too hard to infer, right?)  
Au-- duh. 'Ouch.'  
I kinda like Radu. He reminds me of an oily used-car salesman, in a way. Yes, he's involved with the sultan. Don't hurt me; it's historically accurate. Besides, it just makes him more...I don't know, but it definitely makes him more something.  
  
Simu: What is your weird obsession with my hand?  
  
Radu: It's a nice hand. ;3  
  
Simu: *muttering* Why don't you marry it, then?  
  
Radu: Careful, I might take you up on that.   
  
Simu: Get. Away.  
  
Ha! They're fun, aren't they? *huggles Simu and Radu* I just wuv my cute little prude and my icky little bishie! Whoo! I need sleep. 


	13. Prelude to Rondo

Ahh! Two whole months! Look what Creative Writing has done to me! A whole month of writing nothing but poems... I'm sick to death of poetry. Just how many different types of poems are there, and why do we need to use them all?! Ah well....  
Every part of him ached when Olrox awoke the next evening. Soon after sunset, the same skeleton that had helped him earlier checked his leg, stating that it would be fine to bear weight in another night and day. Sadly, that meant a whole night of staying in bed with his thoughts. Staring vacantly up into the black canopy of his bed, Olrox briefly entertained the idea of calling the skeleton back in to fetch him one of the few books that resided in his bookshelf. He couldn't be troubled to actually do it, however, so he just lie there, connecting the canopy's diamonds into shapes with imaginary lines and trying to keep his mind blank. His body protested to any real movement, and an ache, as though he'd been squeezed in a vice, wrapped around his head. To top it off, he was hungry as well. Olrox sighed.   
  
Footsteps sounded, very softly, in the next room. Olrox half-thought that it was Torio for a moment, but that notion left fairly quickly: the stride was wrong. Moments later, the door was opened. Vlad. Groaning inwardly, Olrox watched him cross the room, their eyes locked.   
  
"I was told you were feeling unwell," Vlad said with a weak smile. No answer. Olrox shifted his gaze to look right through his elder to the far wall. Perching himself on the edge of the bed, Vlad reached out to brush a few lank strands of hair out of Olrox's eyes. Olrox cringed on seeing the movement; he couldn't help it. Vlad checked himself in mid-motion, sighed, and laid his hand down at his side again. He stared down at the floor for a minute.  
  
'I wouldn't be surprised if he's angry again...' Briefly, the idea seized Olrox to make some excuse to leave. 'The damn leg,' he reminded himself. He stared upward. Besides the fracture, his body was still too tired and too sore to sit up, to move away. So he stayed put, wondering why Vlad had come, wondering why he was just...just sitting there, like he'd forgotten his reason for being there in the first place. After some minutes, Olrox closed his eyes. 'Perhaps he'll think I've fallen asleep, and he'll leave.'  
  
"It was for your own good." Vlad's voice was so unexpected that Olrox started a little. He didn't open his eyes, however. If anything, he only squeezed them shut tighter. He could feel Vlad's eyes on him, waiting for a response, receiving none. Accepting that he was going to be ignored, Vlad continued. "I don't enjoy hurting you, copil; that was never my intention," he paused momentarily, searching for words. "But you must understand that what I did was necessary. I'd be doing you more harm than good if I were to let you wander outside alone without consequence. Even if you never thank me for it, you'll realize eventually that I was only trying to help you. Olrox, are you listening?"  
  
As Vlad spoke, Olrox had been growing steadily more and more annoyed. 'This is horseshit.' He turned his face away, the fingers of his left hand twisting into the blanket, struggling to keep his voice calm and quiet, and barely succeeding. "And how did you aim to help me by beating me?" He felt a hand on his arm.  
  
Vlad's voice was low, serious. "We both know, Olrox, that you would not have listened had I simply told you not to leave these grounds. No, you are too stubborn..." His hands trailed downward, checking over mending ribs and bruises that were now almost impossible to make out. Gently, he massaged the broken leg; his fingers lightly pressing into Olrox's calf, dragging upward and trying to coax more blood flow into the cracked bone. Olrox hissed softly as the knotted muscle began to loosen, stinging. "I had to discourage you somehow," Vlad continued, "for now, the outside world is just too dangerous for you."  
  
Olrox raised his eyelids slightly, but kept them turned to the far wall. "How?"  
  
Sighing, Vlad replied, "It's true that you are stronger now than a human could ever hope to be, but you are not invulnerable. There are humans, Olrox, who go out of their way to destroy us, and they are not easily intimidated."  
  
"...Slayers..." Olrox whispered to himself. He knew of them from stories told when he was a child. 'Strange to think they're not the heroes anymore.'  
  
"Yes," said Vlad. "That is what they call themselves. And they are deadly, copil. They know our weaknesses, they know what to expect from us, and they have devised ways of fighting us. If any of them had caught you, they would have killed you, Olrox. And they'd have spared you no humiliation, no cruelty. They hate us as they hate wolves, or disease, or death-anything that could hold dominion over a human. To them, you are not even alive to be killed. You are not old enough to contend with them yet."  
  
A heavy silence descended on the room as Olrox contemplated this.  
  
"Now do you see why I acted as I did?" Vlad kept on. "You'd have suffered far worse at the hands of humans. ...You are still so young; I don't want to lose you in such a manner, to barbarians."  
  
"I see," Olrox whispered grudgingly.  
  
Vlad's tone softened even more, seemingly hurt. "Do you know how worried I was, copil?"  
  
His captive audience was trying very hard to keep a frosty countenance. "Quite worried, clearly, domnule." Olrox remained steadfast in studying the wall, listening to Vlad stand and feeling the elder's eyes on him.   
  
"When you're able to walk," Vlad's voice reverted to a crisp, businesslike tone, "one of your servants will escort you to the cells. You'll find a number of humans staying there, and I expect to find at least two less of them after you've left. You're weak and need the nourishment."  
  
Olrox heaved a weary sigh. "Da, domnule." Nonchalantly glancing toward Vlad, Olrox noticed him looking at the tapestry that had been such an odd puzzle. The older vampire's face was blank, his eyes taking on a wistful glaze.  
  
Seeing the opportunity, Olrox spoke the question that had been nagging at him for what felt like ages. "Who are they?" Vlad snapped out of his reverie and turned, caught off-guard. Olrox looked pointedly at the tapestry by way of clarification.  
  
After a pause, Vlad answered. "You have not hazarded a guess?"  
  
"I've guessed; I seek confirmation," Olrox replied impatiently. 'Why all this hesitation?' As answer, Vlad passed his eyes quickly over the tapestry once more, and, without warning, turned on his heel and made for the door. Confused, Olrox spoke again. "Is he why I'm here?"   
  
The simple question stopped Vlad in his tracks. He looked over his shoulder at the piercing eyes that steadily met his own. "What?"  
  
"Is he why I'm here?" Olrox repeated, softer. He nearly held his breath, waiting for some answer, some glimmer of meaning, of reason for the hell he'd become trapped in.  
  
Vlad stared at his child for a long moment. Then, he silently walked out the door, closing it behind him with a barely audible click, leaving a crestfallen Olrox to wonder at his brisk departure.  
  
'I suppose that's an answer, then...' Disappointed, Olrox studied the faded tapestry, wondering what it was about that mass of old thread that was so... 'Frustrating.' He didn't have much time to mull over it, however, as Torio appeared not twenty minutes after Vlad's leaving. A large, black bird perched comfortably on top of the tengu's head; he crossed the room, sat down, and smiled amusedly at the vampire's expression. Man and bird made a striking pair, and Olrox smiled despite his mood.  
  
"What?" Torio asked, oblivious of his passenger, apparently. He tilted his head to one side slightly, the bird leaning the opposite direction to keep its balance.  
  
Olrox nodded toward the bird. "That's quite an interesting hat you've got on. Although, I'm not sure I'd understand eastern fashion; it doesn't look practical at all."  
  
The bird cawed and ruffled its feathers, drawing Torio's eyes upward. "Oh. Yes, her." He shrugged. "She insisted on coming along. The birds think I'm staying out too late."  
  
Olrox's eyebrows seemed to rise incredulously of their own accord. "You can't be serious." As though taking unction at his remark, the bird cawed loudly and flew to the mantelpiece, where she watched the men carefully. "...Or perhaps not."  
  
Torio waved the apology aside. "Never mind about her; she's overly sensitive." He settled back into a chair. "And how are you feeling today. By which I mean tonight."   
  
Olrox grimaced noncommittally. "I'm to wait until tomorrow night before trying weight on the leg. Other than that, just a little sore." With a small grunt of effort, he eased himself into a sitting position. Reaching back, he tried absently to work some of the dried blood out of his matted hair. "I don't know if I can last that long in this sorry condition." As an afterthought he heaved a melodramatic sigh. 'Tatiana would have liked that one.'  
  
Torio laughed. "You're incredible. I'd never be able to keep my sense of humor if I was," he fumbled, for just a moment, and then went on, "stuck in bed all day..." He threw a glance at the bird. "Anyway, I'd made tea, and I was going to bring you some, but...on second thought, you wouldn't have had much use for it." He grinned sheepishly.  
  
Olrox smiled sadly and shook his head. "No, I don't suppose I would have, but it's the thought that counts."  
  
"Yes." A silence, more comfortable than the last few, prevailed for some minutes. Then, for want of anything else to say, Torio asked, "What does the country look like where you're from? Is it as mountainous as here?"  
  
"No," Olrox answered glad of something, anything, to talk about. "It's rolling grassland, mostly, with the odd river valley. And copses, lots of copses."  
  
"Copses?"  
  
"Small woods."  
  
"Ah," Torio said, "Well, that's another new word..." They kept themselves busy for the next hour or so teaching, or rather, attempting to teach each other a smattering of words of Romanian or Japanese. Neither of them were very competent teachers, but it was all the more fun for one to heckle the other as he tried to get his tongue around an unfamiliar sound, only to butcher it completely. By the time Torio left to return home, he'd learned how to politely ask any Romanian for directions, and Olrox could confidently walk up to the average Japanese citizen and announce his desire to have that person's child (Torio had conveniently made a few mistakes in the translation of that particular phrase...)  
'If I can make it all the way to the blasted cells...' The armed skeleton guiding him slowed down a bit, casting what must have been an apprehensive glance over its shoulder. Olrox dragged himself down flights of damp steps, the moldy scent pervading the air on this level of the castle doing nothing to improve his spirits. His limbs were stiff and seemed disgustingly weak; the gnawing pain in his chest also was fed by his movements. 'Best to be quick and have done with it...' He'd decided to take the first two...humans he came to, and the less thought put into the whole mess, the better.  
  
It had been disastrous. It being the middle of the night, Olrox had assumed that everyone would be sleeping, and he could be in and out of the cells without anyone knowing that he'd been there, including his victims. He hadn't counted on a room full of humans who, wakened by the footsteps of the skeleton, recognized in a moment what Olrox was and knew exactly what he meant to do. Olrox snatched up the nearest person to him, a middle-aged woman, who immediately began screaming and beating him with her fists. A man who must have been her husband threw himself at Olrox, trying to pry his wife away, yelling and cursing. In the end, Olrox killed both of them, and two more besides. As he was leaving, he cast a last look into the cell over his shoulder; wherever his gaze fell the humans shied away as though burned. Not much else could he remember, and he was still a bit muzzy from his large meal. Now he sat in the study adjacent to his bedroom, staring into the fire. There was a small, neat stack of papers on the writing desk regarding the reorganization of a few small sections of the castle that needed going through, but Olrox wasn't the least bit concerned about them at the moment.   
  
'Four...' he thought to himself. 'That makes seven in all. And...it didn't even bother me as much as the last time, or the time before that...' In ways he hadn't considered, this new lack of concern was more miserable than the guilt he'd felt before. He didn't want to not care that he was taking life.   
  
Experimentally, Olrox dragged one fang across the underside of his wrist, so deeply that the tooth scraped against bone. He then held the wrist over the floor and watched as, in the space of half a minute, the stream of blood became a drizzle, then a few drops, and then nothing at all as the cut sealed itself, leaving a faint itch where the skin had joined.   
  
"That's it, then," he murmured. 'This is the way I'll live.' He wandered over the desk and sat down heavily. Uncorking an inkwell and picking up a quill, he sighed and started skimming over the first sheet of paperwork. 'Nobody's fault but my own.'   
  
He didn't try to leave again.  
  
March 15, 1788...  
  
Torio was occupied with a rather nasty infestation of venus weeds in his rookery, so Olrox had had to entertain himself. There was a disturbing lack of interesting conversation in his area of the castle, so after his work was finished and he'd paid a visit to the cells, Olrox had taken to wandering through hallways and rooms to see where he ended up, a pastime which, arguably, kept him busy. And keeping busy, Olrox had found, was an excellent way of keeping certain thoughts and musings at bay. Last week, he had stumbled upon a room of people dancing; they hadn't taken any notice of him, after watching them for a while, he'd moved on. Two days ago he'd found a piano.  
  
Shutting the lid over the keys, Olrox stood and headed off again in another direction. The trouble with playing that piano was that it allowed his mind to wander if he sat there too long. He walked down an empty corridor. Aside from the spiders, no one seemed to be using these rooms.   
  
A few idle thoughts bubbled to the top of Olrox's consciousness as he went. For one thing, there was Vlad's, and, it seemed, half the castle's behavior over the past few weeks. Though he hadn't spoken with his elder since...months ago, Olrox had caught glimpses of the vampire at times in the main hallways, and there was always someone chattering in 'Master's' ear. That someone was usually Shaft. Olrox growled under his breath. For some reason, that man rubbed him entirely the wrong way. 'Sniveling little bastard...' Something was going on, and no one had bothered to tell Olrox anything about it. He'd have to ask Torio. 'After the weeds are taken care of. God knows the man must be harried enough for now.' Still, it was irritating being left in the dark. SOMETHING was happening, the tension and activity throughout the castle (except the deserted section Olrox was now exploring) was distressingly thick...  
  
"Excuse me, sir."  
  
Olrox gasped, nearly leaping out of his skin. Turning around, he saw a youth standing in a doorway, looking embarrassed and trying not to show it.   
  
"Yes?" Olrox said, relaxing his muscles, or trying to. "Can I help you?" he added; he'd grown more accustomed to giving straight orders than offering service.  
  
"I...I was on my way to the chapel, but I'm afraid I've gotten rather lost..." the boy trailed off. If he knew what sort of thing he was speaking to, he didn't seem ruffled by it. As a matter of fact, the little human seemed relatively at home; that was, to say the least, odd.  
  
Olrox smiled carefully, taking care not to show his canines too much. "Ah. Yes, it's easy to get turned around in here. I've been to the chapel before, I'll take you there if you like."  
  
The boy shook his head. "Oh, no, I couldn't impose."  
  
"I have nothing better to do at the moment." Olrox changed direction and motioned the youth to follow. 'Could have worded that a bit better...' The boy was unnervingly quiet; Olrox decided to start a conversation. "So, you seem very comfortable here, that's unusual."  
  
"Yes." The boy said softly.  
  
Olrox looked down at his temporary companion in consternation. 'Well, it's a start.' He tried again. "Are you a new warlock?"That got a reaction. Olrox heard a sharp intake of breath beside him.  
  
"No! I mean, no, domnule. No witchcraft." The boy fingered an old rosary that was wrapped around his wrist. Olrox hadn't noticed it.  
  
"Catholic." Olrox said blandly.   
  
The boy allowed himself a small smile. "Yes. You?" The proverbial common ground was found.  
  
"Orthodox," Olrox stated, disappointing the youth a little. "At least, I used to be." They turned into another hallway and descended a flight of stairs.  
  
The boy sounded puzzled. "Used to be? I didn't think it was something you could stop being." He was answered by a sardonic chuckle.  
  
"If you only knew..." Olrox brightened. "Ah, here we are. You weren't far off." Olrox sat a respectful distance away and gawked at the windows and decoration about the chapel while the youth made a few requisite prayers. As though in unspoken agreement, he then sat down a foot or two from Olrox, waiting for his guide to say something.  
  
Olrox took the cue. "You know something, I never introduced myself. How rude of me...not that that's unusual, mind. You may call me Olrox." He waited patiently while the boy mustered a reply.  
  
"I'm Jan," the human said simply. After a pause, he added, "You're a vampire, aren't you?" The tone wasn't so much fearful as it was vaguely accusing.  
  
"Yes, I am," Olrox said, taking his turn to be blunt. "You don't seem worried." Without warning, Olrox found Jan's rosary a few inches in front of his face rather quickly. For lack of any more appropriate retort, he said, "Yes, it's very pretty. They're rose quartz beads?"  
  
Jan looked calmly at the vampire who was staring down a crucifix. "You're not revolted by it?" The question twisted into a statement.  
  
"I'm sitting in a chapel, I listened to you pray... Try looking at it this way, Jan," Olrox offered, "If I was to hold a spider in front of your face, what would you do?"  
  
The metaphor wasn't lost on the boy. "Spiders don't bother me."  
  
Olrox nodded, gently lowering the boy's arm with one hand. Jan started.  
  
"Don't, don't touch me, please."  
  
A bit taken aback, Olrox complied, leaning back against the pew. "All right. Anyway, I could do the same thing to another human, and he'd run screaming from the room, as it were."  
  
Jan nodded in understanding. "How long have you been like this?"  
  
Olrox sighed. "I'm not sure. It's a little difficult to gauge the time. Around half a year, I expect."  
  
"And," Jan went on timidly, "And how many have you..."  
  
Olrox couldn't help but cut him off at that point, briskly. "Now there's a question for a human to ask! Why, are you afraid I'm going to pounce on you?"  
  
Jan muttered an apology. "I didn't mean to offend, domnule."  
  
"I don't starve. More than that, you needn't know." Olrox attempted to soften his voice. "I'd rather not know, myself." It was clearly time to change the subject. "Pardon my curiosity, but just how did you end up here?"  
  
A human ear would have strained to hear Jan's reply. "I was brought here."  
  
"Oh?" Olrox regretted having asked. "You escaped, then?"  
  
Jan shook his head. "No. I...I was bitten a few times. I was let go. I don't know how long ago. I haven't been able to find my way out... I don't even really try to get out anymore."  
  
As Olrox and the human spoke, Vlad was just setting out from the castle, on his way to a distant town...  
Blaaaarrrrgggghhhh... This whole thing took two months to write; that's why it's so choppy. Sigh Nothing for it. And it's still too short, but I got the storyline moving the way I want it. Good for me... Now... What about that Jan guy, huh? Wacky! I must have tried a dozen ways of introducing that feller, and what do you know, BAM, he just shows up in a random hallway, scaring the piss out of Olrox in the process. Jan's a goofball, as you will see... I didn't have to lapse as much time as I thought I would, so that's good... And... I don't think I have anything else to add. Listen to Dance of Pales. Pork rinds. I need sleep... 


	14. Caged Canaries

And so, after much ado, we come at last to the Rondo of Blood storyline. :) Now Olrox is really in the thick of it, eh? He's in the big leagues... Tch! Now I'll have to look up the names of all those stupid women who got themselves captured...  
  
##  
  
"Checkmate."  
  
Olrox smiled as Torio, grumbling heartily, tipped over his king. The tengu had been introduced to chess two weeks ago, and was disgusted that he hadn't mastered it yet. He had no qualms about making sure Olrox was aware of this.  
  
"What an idiotic waste of time this is. It's all luck, obviously." He glared down at the chessboard in a huff. Olrox was about to reply, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Sighing and crossing his study, he opened the door to admit the skeleton waiting outside. Meanwhile, Torio studied the chess pieces, trying to see what it was that Olrox kept doing to beat him.  
  
The skeleton bowed. "Good evening, Master Olrox."  
  
"Good evening," Olrox replied curtly. When the skeleton didn't go on, he raised an eyebrow. "Yes? Did you need something?"  
  
Jumping a bit, the skeleton bowed again. "Beg pardon, Master; I'm very sorry. Master Dracula wishes to see you."  
  
Olrox's other eyebrow rose to join the first. He hadn't exchanged more than three words with his elder for months. 'I wonder what this is about.' It couldn't be anything bad, since Olrox had been, grudgingly, doing everything he was supposed to in his work. His own section of the castle, especially, had been running like clockwork. Apologizing briefly to Torio, Olrox left the tengu to mull over the chessboard and followed the skeleton out into the maze of corridors and rooms. For all the time Olrox had lived here, it was still all too easy to get lost and end up who knows where.  
  
Vlad was reading from the same leather bound book, in the same chair, in the same dingy old study, as he had been on Olrox's first visit there. Olrox found himself wondering whether Vlad was actually reading, or if it was all a sort of habitual ceremony that he'd carried on for years. 'It would explain why the book is so tattered.' The skeleton guide, knowing what was expected of him, silently left the room, shutting the door after him. Olrox stood with his hands behind his back, waiting to be noticed. 'Of course, he knows I'm here now; he heard me in the hallway...'  
  
Without looking up, Vlad said quietly, "Sit down."   
  
A little offended, but in no mood to start a verbal (or physical) battle, Olrox complied. He didn't trust himself to speak with anything approaching deference, so he waited for Vlad to say more.  
  
Eventually, Vlad deigned to make eye contact, leaning forward in his chair slightly. Olrox suppressed a shiver. He'd forgotten how unnerving his elder's gaze could be. He clasped his hands in his lap, lest he start fidgeting.  
  
"I expect you've been feeling rather left in the dark these past few months," Vlad said blandly, as though he'd just chatted with Olrox about the weather yesterday.  
  
Olrox tried to mask his confusion. "Da, domnule. I thought that perhaps you had forgotten about me." He chanced a weak smile. He never knew whether his occasional glib remarks would be well received.   
  
Fortunately, Vlad either didn't notice or didn't care. "In a small dungeon that you'll be led to shortly, there are three women and a child. I'm entrusting you with their welfare." Olrox opened his mouth to voice a question, but Vlad silenced him with a look. "You'll know all you need to know; be patient. Now, regarding your charges... I want you to make sure that they are kept relatively comfortable, and, make sure you heed this, Olrox," Vlad said, "you are to ensure that they are harassed by no one. That includes you. Not so much as a spider is to upset them in their rooms. Is that understood?"  
  
Olrox nodded. He hesitated momentarily, then asked, "Domnule, a question?"  
  
Vlad leaned back and steepled his fingers. "Yes, what is it?"  
  
Rolling his eyes to the floor, as though searching for inspirations, Olrox finally asked, "What is the purpose of this?"  
  
Vlad looked deadpan for a while; Olrox was certain he'd said the wrong thing again. 'Oh no, what have I done now?' Then, Vlad started laughing, making Olrox jump nearly clear out of his seat. Standing, Vlad held out a hand to help up his startled vampire. "Only you, copil, would have the nerve to ask such a blunt question of me." He shrugged. "I have a soft heart for women. They remind me of my living days, and brighten the castle with their voices, their scent, their loveliness." He grinned wolfishly down at Olrox.  
  
Olrox wasn't convinced. He'd seen, and killed, quite a few women in the dungeons, and they didn't seem to be treated even marginally better than the men. He met Vlad's grin with his own cynical smirk. "A vase of flowers or a caged canary would do as much."  
  
Chuckling again, Vlad enveloped Olrox in a quick embrace. "You must always have the last word, copil. Come, let us walk for a while. I'm sure the months have given us both many topics to discuss, and I miss conversing with you."  
  
All the way to these special dungeons, which Olrox had never been to before, he wondered about Vlad's attitude during their meeting. Olrox wandered along silently behind his guide, trying to figure out the reason for his elder's ingratiating behavior. To say that it was confusing was a gross understatement.   
  
Still musing on Vlad's violent mood swings, Olrox came back to himself in time to narrowly avoid running into his guide, who had stopped and was now looking at Olrox with what the vampire assumed was a concerned expression. The skeleton knew better than to comment, however, merely handing over a ring of keys with a muttered explanation. He sighed inaudibly in relief when Olrox dismissed him and he was free to leave. It was common knowledge throughout the castle's lower creatures that while the count's "offspring" was far less demanding than Dracula, he was every bit as volatile.  
  
Sighing and wishing that he knew what Vlad was up to, Olrox selected one of the numbered keys and searched the corridor for its corresponding door. Finding it, Olrox unfastened the lock and carefully and gradually opened the door, trying to keep its aged hinges from creaking too loudly. Shutting the heavy door behind him, Olrox waited for a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room and glanced around, looking for one of his charges. The room seemed unoccupied. There was no fire in the small hearth, and the bed was made. Holding still, Olrox inhaled deeply; of the many odors present there was a definite human scent in the air, but it could easily be coming from the bedclothes or furniture, where numberless humans had touched them. Holding his breath, straining his ears, Olrox thought he could hear a faint murmur from the far corner of the room. Venturing a few steps into the room, Olrox heard the creak of a floorboard under his feet, and then a sharp intake of breath as he saw a woman jump up from behind the bed. She immediately hurled a vase at him; Olrox sidestepped it automatically and it smashed against the far wall, painfully loud compared to the room's previous silence.   
  
Olrox's first instinct was to retaliate, but seeing the human's scared but determined face he remembered his orders and remained motionless. He wondered briefly how he should address this woman. She had thrown a vase at his head, after all. Fumbling, he tried his level best not to seem threatening, thankful that he'd already eaten tonight.  
  
"I'm not going to harm you," he said, making sure she could hear him. At the sound, the woman cringed farther back into her corner, her eyes darting about for some other weapon. Olrox attempted to catch her gaze. "My name is Trandafir Olrox, and my master has simply ordered me to keep you safe and well; please calm yourself." As an afterthought, he added, "I've fed already. I won't so much as touch you." He wasn't sure if that remark had had the effect he'd wanted, but the woman stood up a bit straighter and glared.  
  
Olrox went on, still using what he hoped were soothing tones. "I'm going to light a lamp, so you can see me better. Please don't throw anything else." He heard a soft "harrumph" from the corner that told him that she would throw whatever she wanted, whenever she felt like it. Crossing the floor to some shelves, he took down an old lantern and set it on the room's one small table.  
  
Over the months, Olrox had seen Vlad occasionally set things, and sometimes other creatures, alight, or simply create a fireball out of nowhere. He was puzzled as to how this worked, but had found with a little experimentation that he could manage a few like tricks himself. Fire was beyond him, but Olrox discovered that he could build up a sort of lightning in himself, and had practiced with it until he could more or less control its strength and direction. For the most part, he'd done this to ensure that he didn't accidentally damage anything, or anyone, important. Pinching the lantern's wick between his thumb and forefinger, he let a slight charge pass between them, heating the wick until it flickered into flames. Blowing gently on his singed fingers, Olrox replaced the lantern's glass cover and smiled at the woman, who was still backed into the far corner.   
  
In the brighter light her features were more easily seen. Her tall, thin frame, stick straight red hair, and gray eyes made for an attractive, if not beautiful, overall appearance. And the scowl she wore was absolutely frigid.  
  
"You stay away from me, you devil!" the woman warned, brandishing the first thing that came to hand, which was, consequentially, a fire iron. "Don't think I don't know how to deal with you!"  
  
Fighting to keep a straight face, Olrox sat down at one of the two chairs at the table, crossing his legs and clasping his hands over one knee. Keeping still, his mind raced, trying to come up with some way to get the woman to put down the fire iron and stop acting like he was going to go for her throat at any second. He could just take her weapon away, bodily; that would be easy enough. 'But that would just make her more angry...' He didn't think that any amount of coaxing would have much effect, either. She didn't seem the type who would put up with anything vaguely condescending.   
  
"What say we both of us drop the show of bravado, hmm?" he said, deciding to just speak whatever came to mind. "We both know that you can't hurt me with that scrap of metal. I'd have crossed the room and snapped your neck before you'd even think to swing." True, putting a little fear of God into her couldn't hurt. The woman's glare became icier, if possible, but she lowered the fire iron and stood up straight. Olrox smiled and nodded once in acknowledgement. "Now, perhaps you'd like to talk to me, so I can be on my way and out of yours?"   
  
The woman thought for a moment, then said, "What do you want?"  
  
'Well, now we're getting somewhere...' Olrox almost showed his teeth, but thought better of it. The acerbic comment that was on the tip of his tongue escaped, however. "Not you, for starters. If you could tell me your name and when you arrived here, I'd be obliged."  
  
The woman's fingers flexed on her makeshift weapon. "I got here yesterday, for all I now; there aren't any damn windows in here. And I'm Annette Renard, and my fiancé will kill every last one of you."  
  
Olrox shook his head. "I'm sure he will, domnisoara Renard. Now, do you need anything? Hungry? Bored? Thirsty?" His eyes lit on the empty hearth. "Cold? I could have a fire lit, if you like."  
  
Annette didn't look as though she was about to admit anything, so Olrox got up with a tiny shrug of his shoulders, and left.  
  
The next charges were uneventful. Two women shared a slightly larger room than the first, and both were sound asleep. There was no fire in the hearth, once again, and Olrox could see how the two humans huddled together under several quilts.* Olrox took note of this, and closed and relocked the door.  
  
One key and one door remained. 'He put the child in a room alone? Surely he's not that thoughtless...' This door was quieter than the others, so Olrox made a little noise with his footsteps so as not to surprise his charge. Instead of sleeping or hiding, the child, a little girl, was curled in a tatty old armchair by the unfailingly empty fireplace, wrapped in a quilt from the bed and looking at a picture book. Olrox couldn't see much of her, only her feet, one small white hand, and a face somewhat like Annette's peeking out from the quilt, framed by fluffy blonde hair. Somehow, someone had lighted the lantern on the mantelpiece earlier.   
  
"Hello." Olrox said gently, shutting the door and sitting on the bed.  
  
"Buna, domnule," she answered, her voice quivering just a little. "Are you going to bite me?"   
  
Olrox couldn't hold back a bark of laughter, but saw the girl's eyes widen and regained control over himself. "No," he said, "No, I'm not. You're too young for my conscience." 'Though in another year, you wouldn't be...' She didn't need to know that, though. He went on. "I'm only here to see if you need anything."  
  
The girl regarded Olrox warily. "Do you have hot chocolate here?" She asked the question as though she wasn't really expecting an answer in the affirmative.  
  
Olrox watched her as she fiddled with the pages of her book. He couldn't help but admire the audacity of the two humans he'd met, especially this child. She was looking straight at him, worrying her lower lip with her teeth, and Olrox realized that his mind had wandered. "I'll see what I can do," he said. "Miss..."  
  
"Renard," the girl offered. "Maria."  
  
Olrox smiled. "Ah, so you're Domnisoara Annette's sister?"  
  
Maria nodded. "Da, domnule."  
  
Olrox lowered his voice in a conspiratorial tone. "Yes, I've met your sister already. She nearly broke my nose."  
  
Trying to keep a straight face, Maria asked politely how that had happened.  
  
Olrox sighed. "She threw a vase at me. She has very good aim, I'll give her that. I suppose it's true, what they say about red hair."  
  
Maria giggled. "Annette's a big hothead..."  
  
"Perhaps I should wear a helmet next time I have to speak with her," Olrox mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. This earned another chortle. 'She really is fearless, isn't she? Or simple, but...' On that note, Olrox bowed and took his leave of the child, locking her in again and setting off in search of a skeleton, or anyone else who could carry a message, for that matter.   
  
A few minutes later, a bewildered skeleton was trying to comprehend the fact that Master Olrox was requesting from the kitchens, of all places, a mug of hot chocolate, three glasses of wine, four bowls of mutton sour soup, and a loaf of bread. Not that these items were difficult to obtain; there were plenty of the castle's in habitants that needed to eat, and, more importantly, preferred their food cooked. But why Trandafir would need food, and so much of it, was out of the skeleton's understanding.   
  
"But, Master, why-" He was silenced with a look from the vampire.  
  
"I don't believe I spoke to you with the intention of starting a debate. We have guests. Go get what I told you to get, put it on a tray, and bring it up here. Now!" he barked, sending the skeleton clattering down the hallway. If it had had a heart anymore, it would have been racing inside the skeleton's chest.  
  
Olrox was leaning against the wall in the corridor, studying the stress fractures in the stonework, when the skeleton shuffled into view, heavily burdened by a tray from the nearest kitchens. Olrox was rather impressed at the uncommonly strong bundle of bones, since their lack of muscles made most skeletons pitifully weak.   
  
Relieving the skeleton of its load, Olrox dismissed him in no uncertain terms and reached into his pocket with his free hand for his key ring. He's considered at first letting someone else see to feeding his charges, but he'd had second thoughts, and understandably so. He hadn't forgotten his reaction at seeing his first animate remains, let alone all the other grotesque things that he could have employed for this task. 'No, best if I do it myself. At least then I can be sure that they're not harmed.'  
  
With the intention of getting the worst over with quickly, Olrox unlocked Annette's door first. He knocked first and announced himself, which served two purposes. First, it assured Annette that he wasn't someone, or something, far nastier, and second, it was a sort of implied warning to her not to try anything.  
  
"Back so soon, vampire?" the woman growled. "What now?"  
  
Reminding himself to keep his own "hothead" in check, Olrox set down the tray and removed from it a bowl, spoon, mug, and plate and set them on the table in front of one of the chairs. Wordlessly, he ripped off what he guessed to be about one fourth of the bread loaf and set it on the plate, then ladled soup into the bowl. He also filled the mug with some red wine from a thick glass bottle he'd found on the tray next to the soup tureen.   
  
Annette was less than impressed. "Doing all this yourself, are you? And here I was thinking that you were someone important."  
  
Olrox gave her a smirk as he lifted a page out of one of the more rotted books on the bookcase and lit it in the lantern. "Of course I'm important. I'm a vampire, aren't I?" He cupped his hand around the burning page, walking it to the cold wood in the hearth. Setting the paper under some of the smaller logs, he blew on it gently and prayed it wouldn't go out. The last thing he needed in front of this woman was an embarrassment. "I could have sent someone else, but I don't think you would have enjoyed that."  
  
The woman perched on the edge of her bed. "And I'm perfectly thrilled to see you again, leech."  
  
'Thank you, Lord.' With the fire going more or less steadily, Olrox stood and turned to face Annette. "You should be, woman. I'm the only soul standing between you and every crawling, flying, slithering thing that lives here. And I'm the one who remembers that you need to eat." He stepped closer to the scowling woman, bringing his face inches away from her. "And my name is not 'devil,' nor is it 'vampire' or 'leech.' You will address me as Domn Trandfir, or not at all. Am I understood, domnisoara?"  
  
Annette met his stare for some time, but eventually lowered her eyes, muttering, "Da." Olrox noted that her fingers were digging into her mattress, as though they were imagining themselves wrapped around a certain someone's throat. Not wanting to press the matter further, however, Olrox picked up the tray and left, a little proud of himself that he'd kept relatively calm.  
  
The two women in the next room were still asleep, so Olrox set out their meals, leaving the lid of the soup tureen covering the bowls to keep the heat in. After lighting a small fire in their hearth, he left again, quietly turning the key in the lock so as not to wake them.   
  
Maria was up and looking at the bookshelf, still wrapped in her quilt, when Olrox entered her room. After exchanging brief greetings, Olrox busied himself with setting out her food, along with the mug of hot chocolate, over which some thoughtful person in the kitchens had placed an overturned bowl to hold in the steam. Maria sipped at the hot drink gratefully while she watched Olrox get a fire started. Olrox noted the book she'd half pulled out from among the old books. Reading the spine, he learned that it was a battered copy of 'Le Morte D'Arthur.'   
  
"How old are you, Maria?" he asked, sitting down across from her at the table.   
  
Maria set down her mug, got a spoonful of soup, and said, "Twelve, domnule," before eating it. She swallowed, then asked, "How old are you, domnule?"  
  
Olrox smiled. The girl's boldness reminded him of his own sibling, in a way. 'Well, and Tatiana always wanted blonde hair.' "I am twenty."  
  
Maria downed a few more spoonfuls of soup in silence. Olrox was glad that she liked it. He hadn't thought about food in months, and had just given the women things that he remembered liking when he still had use for them. 'To be honest, the smell is a bit nostalgic...' He'd tried eating once, about a month ago, just to see what would happen. He'd made himself gag, and what he had managed to swallow, he didn't keep down very long. His body as it was now would have none of that nonsense anymore.   
  
"How old are you since you died?" Maria gazed over at a surprised vampire over her soup bowl, her spoon hovering over the surface.   
  
Olrox was a little caught off guard by the candid question. "Twenty," he stammered, though he really wasn't quite sure of his age, now. Had his birthday passed, or was it later...?  
  
Maria went back to eating. "Oh, so it just happened recently?" she commented conversationally, as though Olrox had come down with nothing less trivial that a head cold.  
  
Olrox found himself asking a question of his own, but he wondered at the wisdom of it. "Why aren't you afraid of me, Maria?"  
  
The girl licked a stray dribble of soup broth from the side of her mouth, and started on the bread. "I am afraid of you, domnule. But you haven't done anything bad to me yet, so I suppose...I suppose you aren't going to. I don't know." She shrugged. "You seem very nice to me. I was told vampires were lustful, greedy, sadistic, mindless monsters. And you're not like that at all, so far." She said all this as though she was sharing a tidbit of gossip.  
  
One of Olrox's eyebrows found itself higher than the other. "Really? Who told you that?"  
  
Maria looked up from her food for a moment. "My brother-in-law. Well," she corrected, "he'd not my brother-in-law yet. Not officially, but he will be." She took a sip of her hot chocolate. "His name's Belmont Richter. His family knows a lot about vampires and things like that. He's real smart. I asked him about vampires last summer, because a girl from my town was talking about them, and he told me all those things. I don't know, though. The way he talked about you, I pictured a cold, clammy, smelly, toothy, snarly, ugly thing. You're real friendly, and you're nice looking, except for being too pale. See? You even blushed some when I said you were nice looking. You're just like a person. So, I'm a little frightened, but not really frightened."  
  
Olrox met her eyes. "Perhaps those things are what makes vampires so dangerous to people like you, Maria. However harmless I may seem, you are not safe with me. Don't trust me so easily, copil; I haven't earned it yet." Maria's face fell a little after that stern remark. She ate for a while in silence.   
  
Regrouping rather speedily, Maria asked, quietly, "Domnule, why are the other women and I here?"  
  
Olrox cajoled a small smile out of himself as he stood to leave. "I haven't the slightest notion. My master spoke of you all as though you were a bouquet of flowers he was using as decoration."  
  
"Who's he? I never got to see him. I was asleep the whole way here."  
  
'No harm in telling her. She'll find out within a day whether I do or not.' "Dracula," Olrox stated blandly.  
  
"Oh," said Maria, looking down at her bowl. "In that case, Richter will come and take us home. You should meet him when he does come; I'll bet he'd like to meet you. I don't think he's ever met a real vampire before," she added, with a little touch of pride, because SHE had, "for all he knows so much about them. He'd probably like you."  
  
Olrox rolled his eyes imperceptibly. "I somehow doubt that. I think I'll leave you to your rest now. It's getting very late; even I wouldn't turn down sleep in a short time." Opening the door, he was halted by another question.  
  
"Domnule?"  
  
He looked back over his shoulder. "Da?"  
  
Maria sat back in her chair, closer to the heat of the fire. "What am I to call you?"  
  
'Forgotten again.' Olrox bowed. "You may call me Olrox, domnisoara." And he left, making his way back to his own chambers, half-hoping that Torio was still there. Olrox's meetings with his charges would make an interesting story for the tengu, who was already a bit bored with life in the castle.  
  
By the time Olrox reached his rooms, he was thankful that Torio had gone home. He hadn't noticed how tired he was. Looking out the window in his study, he saw the sun already fully above the horizon.  
  
'Well,' he thought, through the warm fuzziness that the sunbeams were causing to weigh on him, 'that's...' He made it into his bedroom and fell onto his bed, out of the sun, and dozed off, leaving the thought unfinished.  
  
##  
  
*No, they aren't lesbians. Bear in mind that this story takes place in the late seventeenth century, when physical contact wasn't considered a big deal. Plus, it's frickin' freezing in that room...  
  
domn-Mister  
  
domnisoara-(missing its little squiggle thing under the 's') Miss  
  
buna-(missing its little bow thing over the 'a') hello  
  
All right, all right, so I gave Annette a new hair color. I'm sorry. Purple just isn't a color for hair back than. Sorry. I'm also sorry about this chapter taking so damn long (once again). I don't know what's wrong with me. Laziness, I'd wager. I'll do better next time. So, how about them there wimmen folk? I didn't have Olrox talk to the nun and the other broad, since they're sort of in the background, anyway. He might later. Richter will be arriving shortly, as well. Of course, I'll have a lot more fun with his character later, but that's a ways off yet. And what's up with Vlad, huh? It's like the poor guy's in the middle of vampire menopause, or something. Jeez... I never figured out why exactly he felt the need to just kidnap those women in the game. He didn't even bite them or anything... So you won't find out why, either. Not unless I think up a reason in the near future, that is. Need sleep... 


	15. Rebellion

Bewildered and overwhelmed, Olrox paced the long aisles of bookshelves, taking care not to get himself lost in the labyrinthine library. He seldom came here, the peaceful rooms stirring up an inexplicable homesickness in the vampire. But this time he was a man on a mission, and his purpose successfully staved off any gloomy thoughts he might have slipped into otherwise.   
  
'What on God's green earth does a twelve-year-old girl read?' Olrox mused, staring at the intimidating walls of literature that seemed to stretch on without end.  
  
Books crowded the shelves, leather-bound relics and musty tomes hunched next to volumes that seemed relatively new. Sighing, Olrox began walking slowly down an arbitrary aisle, reading the titles, most of which were unfamiliar or illegible, the monotonous soft thud of his index finger against the book spines the loudest sound in the whole vast room. He walked for hours, picking up likely books, putting them back, finding another. Finally, he stumbled on something he was familiar with; easing the lightly worn copy of "Paradise Lost" from between its neighbors, Olrox gently blew the thin veneer of dust from the cover and thumbed through the pages, deliberating. Milton seemed just a little heavy for a twelve-year-old, though she did seem mature for her age... 'Well, at worst, she'll lose interest in it, I suppose.' Cradling the book in one hand, he continued his excursion, wondering, only half jokingly, if he should have brought a ball of string with him to mark his path.  
  
A three-hour search had yielded the book of Milton and a dog-eared "Robinson Crusoe." The sheer size of the library was staggering; Olrox wisely decided that it was time to give up for the moment. He'd fed early in the evening, and if he waited too long to check on his charges, he might be hungry again.   
  
Turning a corner near where he supposed the entrance had been, Olrox found himself with a clear line of sight to the large desk that lay not far from the door. A wizened old man with a stupendously long beard perched in the high chair behind the mammoth desk. 'Now, how long has he been here; that spot was dusty and covered in cobwebs when I walked in.'  
  
Assuming that, since there was an attendant, it would be rude to simply walk out, Olrox approached the desk and handed the two books over into the librarian's outstretched hand. The librarian peered at the titles, lifting his spectacles with his fingers and tilting his face to look through them.   
  
"Found something, then, have we?" he wheezed. Even his voice sounded dusty and unused. He picked up a quill, shook the cobwebs and dust from it, and wrote down the names and a short description of the books themselves in a thin, spidery handwriting. Peering over his lenses, he regarded Olrox for the first time. "Not many that bother with this place anymore."  
  
Under the old man's scrutinizing gaze, Olrox couldn't help feeling a twinge of embarrassment. "They're for a friend who's...who's bedridden," he muttered lamely, knowing as he said it that he'd have been better off keeping quiet.  
  
"For one of your kind, you're a terrible liar, Young Master," the librarian said softly; but instead of taking offense, the man's eyes twinkled with mirth. He chortled to himself, with an odd mixture of benevolence and insanity notable in the voice, and gently shoved the books across the desk.   
  
Olrox had saved the books until last, first taking care of the other women's food and firewood. Taking Maria her meal, he set the books down on the table without ceremony. Maria looked at the books as a smile grew on her small face. She turned to Olrox and asked if they were for her. He nodded.  
  
Delighted with the present, the girl leapt forward to hug the vampire before Olrox could step aside. "Oh, thank you, Domn Trandafir! I've been so bored in here."  
  
"Don't!" Shoving her away more roughly than he'd meant to, Olrox stepped back, and, flustered, looked down at Maria, who looked confused and hurt. He sighed. "You mustn't do that ever again, Maria. Don't even come near to me."  
  
Maria started toward him, but at a gesture from Olrox she held back. "But you wouldn't hurt me..." She halfheartedly tried to look at the floor, but Olrox held her gaze.  
  
"You don't know that, Maria; you've only known me for a day."  
  
"But you're so kind to me," Maria began again.  
  
"Kind?" Olrox snapped, glaring at her. The girl shrank back and Olrox regretted being so harsh. He continued, gently but sternly. "Think of what I am, copil. Think of what I could do to you." 'I hate to think of that, myself.'  
  
Maria sniffled, then seemed to pull herself together and stand straighter. "If you were going to hurt me, you'd have done it by now. So, I suppose...you're not going to." She looked fairly confident in this, and sat down to watch the fire.  
  
'I hope for your sake that you're right, Maria.' Olrox felt a soft pull at his heart, and took that as a cue to leave. As he reached the door, a quiet voice stopped him.  
  
"Domn Olrox?"  
  
Olrox turned. Maria sat staring at the fire; then, she turned to look up at him. She paused for a long while. She fidgeted with her skirts and said, "I want to go home."  
  
Olrox's face fell. What could he say? He didn't know why she was here; he didn't know when she could go home, if ever. He fervently hoped that Vlad didn't have any ill intentions for her. What to say? Finally, sighing, he said, "I know exactly how you feel." Opening the door, he stepped through, locked it, and left.  
  
The next week, Olrox overheard many hallway gossips. Every creature had the same words on his, her, or its lips: Richter Belmont had broken in, and no one knew where exactly he was.  
  
The castle was abuzz with activity. Vlad had told Olrox to be very careful and avoid sections of the castle that had spotted the slayer, so instead the young vampire was kept busy organizing the castle's occupants, vainly trying to fence the human in. It was impossible; news of Belmont's whereabouts just couldn't reach Olrox fast enough to be of any use. He was getting the sneaking suspicion that Vlad had set him this task to keep him out of the way.  
  
He also suspected that Vlad was letting the human live. He had no idea why. Sitting at his desk, quill poised in one hand over another futile set of instructions to a group of creatures near the Marble Gallery, Olrox puzzled over the whole affair. Obviously, the women had been used as bait; Annette and Maria's testimonies confirmed that much. But what was the man's connection to Vlad, and why was he important enough that Vlad would let him terrorize the castle so?   
  
Standing with a snort of frustration, Olrox began walking in the general direction of Vlad's small study, hoping to meet the older vampire, unlikely as that was. He'd decided that he was growing very tired of being kept ignorant.   
  
Olrox was walking quickly through one of the many cramped, neglected back hallways, becoming even more peevish while trying to find his way, when he very nearly walked right into someone. Checking himself a hairsbreadth from a nerve-racked Jan, Olrox stepped back and they stared at one another for an awkward moment. 'Was I really so oblivious that I didn't notice him coming? I could have hurt him.'   
  
Something about the way the boy just stood there, wringing his hands and wide-eyed, suddenly struck Olrox as being funny, and he smiled for the first time that night. "Hello again. I'm terribly sorry; I nearly sent you sprawling, didn't I?"  
  
Olrox's voice seemed to jolt Jan out of his startled trance. "I'm so sorry, domnule, I wasn't looking where I was going and-"  
  
Olrox silenced him with an impatient wave of his hand. "Never mind. There was no harm done." Taking an opportunity to speak casually, he went on. "We both seem in a hurry. What has you not looking where you're going, if I may ask?"  
  
Jan seemed to shrink imperceptibly into himself. "Just thinking." Out of nowhere, he added, "I've seen the Belmont man."  
  
That was interesting. Olrox raised an eyebrow. "Really?"  
  
Jan nodded, blushing with embarrassment at the attention. "Just yesterday."  
  
"And did he merit what's said of him?"  
  
The boy shrugged and shifted his weight. "He looked tired. I thought I'd speak with him, but," he looked down at the ground, "I was too afraid. I suppose I've been here too long. I wouldn't know what to say."  
  
Jan shied back when Olrox moved to lay a hand on his shoulder, so the vampire settled for a sympathetic frown. "I'm sorry." They stood quietly for a few seconds, and an idea started in the back of Olrox's mind. "Where did you say you saw the human?"  
  
Jan looked up. "He was under that big staircase that opens into the south gallery. If you don't mind, sir, I think I'll be on my way."  
  
Olrox smiled. "Of course. I should be going as well. Nice to see you, Jan."  
  
Jan blushed again and hurried off. Leaning against the wall, Olrox's lips twitched upward at the corners at the thought... He didn't need to say one word to Vlad if he could find out about the Belmont by going straight to the source. Vlad needn't be bothered at all, in fact. Changing direction at the next junction, Olrox found himself running, and a little tickle of excitement almost made him laugh aloud.   
  
Even as he was running, he was telling himself what a bad idea it was to seek out a slayer when he was still so green. At the same time, however, it was an irresistible thrill, to see the person who had the entire castle checking their rooms and locking their doors before they slept.   
  
Hours later, Olrox descended the staircase from the Marble Gallery. He'd expected the human to be long gone, but checked underneath just in case. Surprisingly enough, there was a human asleep there. 'He must be using this spot as a camp for now.'   
  
The human looked to be not quite as tall as Olrox. He carried the grime of days spent trekking through the castle, his brown hair tangled and his face and clothes smudged with dust, dried blood, and other substances probably best left unknown. He'd wrapped his long blue coat around himself for warmth, and one gloved hand was tightly clutching the handle of a heavy whip. It, too, was stained with use.  
  
Knowing that he was courting disaster, Olrox slowly crept closer, hardly daring to breathe, walking as softly as he could until he was near enough to crouch down before the slayer. Feeling decidedly restless, as though the slayer was triggering some hidden instinct to flee, Olrox nevertheless leaned in even closer, until he could feel the warmth of the human's breath on his face. Studying the new face, Olrox took note of the dark rings around Belmont's eyes, and the tenseness of the man's muscles, as though he was exhausted, and yet didn't trust his surroundings enough to really sleep. 'He probably hasn't slept in several days...'  
  
Then, on an insane impulse, Olrox reached out one shaky hand and touched the human's face, grinning at how soft and warm the skin was, and at the roughness of the stubble. Sleeping, the Belmont looked harmless, pathetic, and Olrox knew that, for the moment, he had the advantage. If he bit now, he perhaps could kill the human before Richter even knew what was happening. However, Vlad obviously wanted him left alive. 'And he did warn me about slayers. I don't know what this man could do. It's best if I let him alone..." Succumbing to his growing unease, Olrox stood and left the human, making his way back to his quarters, his curiosity slaked for a time.  
  
When he retired to bed that morning, another, far more rebellious idea was beginning to take shape.  
  
The tengu looked on in interest as Olrox bustled around his study, grinning, tidying, and making several minute adjustments that seemed needlessly neurotic to Torio's eyes. He chuckled. "And is the caged bird preparing for another night of work, or has your confinement driven you mad so soon?"  
  
"Not tonight, my friend, not tonight," Olrox answered as he locked a stack of papers inside a desk drawer, looking up at his sole confidant with a conspiratorial wink.   
  
"Going to the dungeons?" Torio guessed.  
  
The vampire laughed and shook his head. "Already fed; can't you tell?" He indicated the faint flush in his cheeks. "Don't bother guessing because you never will."  
  
A sound of ruffling feathers could be faintly heard, and Torio glared. "Now, that's a fine thing to see. You don't even trust me enough to tell me what you're up to. And it's no good, I know, from the way you're smiling..."  
  
"Oh, stop pouting, Torio-kun," Olrox soothed, leading his friend to the door by the arm. "Of course I trust you. It's just that you have an ear for gossip and two mouths...er, beaks."   
  
The bird-spirit scowled. "You doubt my honor?"  
  
Olrox put up his hands. "No! Never. But I'm afraid this is something I'll have to tell you after the fact." He went on before the tengu could protest. "And I haven't told anyone else, so you needn't feel offended."  
  
With that, Olrox bid Torio good evening and left for the hallway that housed his human charges, jangling the keys softly in his pocket and humming.  
  
On his way down one of the larger main corridors, Olrox's good mood was abruptly shattered when he caught sight of one of his least favorite persons walking toward him. Or rather, his good mood was shattered when said person caught sight of him and stopped Olrox with a raised hand and an important look.  
  
Olrox sighed and fought back the impulse to snarl. "Good evening, Father." Shaft, a priest turned warlock, was in Olrox's opinion, a lunatic. However, he was also very powerful, and as distasteful as Olrox found it, it was best to be polite.  
  
Shaft peered disdainfully up at Olrox. Aside from Vlad himself, the dark priest wasn't fazed by much, and seemed to be thoroughly unimpressed with Dracula's chosen second-in-command. "The Master has just sent for you. He is down this hall, five doors on the right."  
  
Olrox nodded. "I'll see to it as soon as I've done with-"  
  
"You'll see to it now, Domn Tradafir," Shaft interrupted briskly, "and you'll show more respect for your creator and master, if you're wise, which I doubt." Continuing on his way, he left Olrox standing alone in the middle of the hallway, fuming.  
  
'I'll see to it, and that's all you need be concerned with, bulangiu.' Grumbling, Olrox resumed his journey, and when he reached the fifth door on the right, which turned out to be the large double doors leading into the audience chamber, Olrox kept right on walking.  
  
After seeing to the needs of his charges, Olrox lingered in Maria's chamber. A half-formed plan hovered in his mind, but he continued it with no small measure of trepidation. Whatever Vlad had planned for Maria, the child didn't deserve it. He had grown fond of her in the weeks that she'd been in the castle, and he'd seen, in a scant few days, her boldness degenerate into a quiet, consuming, and very desperate fear. Each day, Olrox saw that she was a little less well-rested, that she ate a little more hesitantly, that she spoke a little less readily. 'She's only a child, after all...'   
  
He was surprised when Maria looked up from her meal almost at once and asked, "What is your family like?"  
  
Glancing up at her from the key ring he'd been fidgeting with, he found himself answering, hardly missing a beat, although he hadn't expected any more light conversation. "They live far to the west of here, almost as far into the country as it's possible to be. My father is a paltry nobleman, my mother is an Englishwoman."  
  
"What is she like?"  
  
Olrox faintly smiled. "She's fair, like you, and good-humored, and very British. Overly fond of tea... Father worships the ground she walks on."  
  
Maria genuinely smiled at that, as Olrox suspected she would, and that in turn improved his mood, strengthened his resolve. "Do you have brothers and sisters?" Maria asked, "I always thought it would be lovely to have a little sister."  
  
Olrox felt the teeth of the keys in his hand. "I had two older brothers, and an older sister. She came back from her studies in France a few months before..." Olrox fumbled, apologetically, "And my eldest brother is married, and his daughter will be three shortly."  
  
Sympathetically, Maria said, "They probably miss you. Couldn't you visit them?"  
  
Seeing how earnest she was, Olrox softened the sharp words he'd been about to speak. "If it was that simple, copil, I would be there now. They are better off not knowing."  
  
Continuing on with her supper, Maria said, half in reassurance, "I miss my family, too."  
  
That was the final nudge Olrox needed. Poorly thought out or not, he'd have to try at something while the opportunity lasted. "Maria," he said, standing, "Richter is here. He has been for days; I've seen him myself." Her face brightened. Olrox smiled. 'If I am successful, it will be worth the worst of Vlad's anger.' "He won't let anything happen to you. You'll be home soon, I promise."  
  
He left without another word. He had to leave; he had so much still to do tonight. Returning to the gallery staircase, Olrox blessed whatever providence was smiling on him. The Belmont man was still there, hastily eating a meager piece of chicken, whip close to hand.   
  
'Now, it must be now, or I'll lose my nerve.' Looking down on the human from the stairs, Olrox jangled the key ring, jumping back as Richter looked up. Olrox heard a scrabbling noise, then footsteps. Giving the keys another quick shake, Olrox dashed up to the landing, down the hallway, and around a corner. There he waited, risking only quick glances toward the landing.  
  
After what seemed a small eternity, Olrox spied the human standing at the top of the stairs, looking around, confused. Olrox shook the keys again, loudly, and saw the human's head snap in his direction. He ducked away, listening to the footsteps long enough to be sure he was being followed, then dashed away again.  
  
In this way, Olrox slowly led Richter Belmont closer to the women's cells, careful never to let the slayer see him, leading him by sound. He wondered, as his heart raced, and he shivered with fright and exhilaration, if the human thought he was being led into a trap. 'As long as he follows...'  
  
Eventually, Olrox reached the hallway that led to the cells. Remembering just in time that that hallway was a dead end, he threw the key ring to the floor, ducking into an adjoining corridor and running, not waiting to see if the keys were picked up.  
  
Olrox didn't stop running until he was outside the door that Shaft had told him Vlad was waiting in. Taking a moment to compose himself, Olrox knocked. He would rather have gone straight back to his own chambers, he felt nauseous, but he'd already made the older vampire wait too long. Hearing Vlad's voice from within the room, Olrox took a deep breath and opened the door.  
  
Vlad was clearly irritated. "You're late." That simple, emotionless statement sent a shudder through Olrox's frame. "Why?"  
  
Folding his hands behind his back to keep from wringing them, Olrox looked at the floor for a minute, gathering his wits. "I'm sorry, Master. I ran into the slayer." It wasn't a lie. 'Merely bending the truth a bit.'  
  
Immediately, Vlad's expression changed from one of anger into one of concern. He walked over to Olrox, checking for injury. "Are you all right?"  
  
Olrox looked up at his elder. Vlad was clearly worried, and Olrox felt an inexplicable pang of guilt. "Yes," he answered, as he was pulled into a tight hug. "I ran before he had a chance to do anything. I suppose I wasn't paying attention as I should have been, and he surprised me. I managed to lose him after a minute or so."  
  
"Never, never again," Vlad all but whispered, "You must be more careful, copil." Vlad combed his fingers through Olrox's hair (which was loose, Olrox noted; he must have lost the ribbon somewhere during the evening), and Olrox realized that he would be punished for his 'carelessness.' Only, not just yet, Vlad was too shaken now himself for that. Later, however, was an entirely different matter.  
  
And he was right. Olrox awoke the next evening to find that his door was locked from the outside. A blood filled chalice set on the floor before the door; it was already cooling, so Olrox gulped it down quickly. He collapsed into a chair, his mind still tired from the previous night. Mechanically, he chipped away at a stack of paperwork, wondering what he'd do with himself before Vlad's inevitable appearance. He was itching to know what had become of his key ring, but, as much as he hated it, he'd have to be patient for the time being, or risk endangering himself more than he already had. 'I suppose, in a way, I can thank Vlad for locking me in, then.'  
  
In a matter of hours, Olrox had changed his mind. The two pints or so of blood he'd had at the start of the evening hadn't been filling to begin with, and now he was hungry again. Resting his head in his left hand while he drummed his right fingers on the desk, he glanced up at the clock, sighed, swore, and shifted position. Later, he paced, picking up a book or another small object, looking at it, losing interest, and setting it down again, looking at the clock. He muttered and grumbled. It was nearly dawn now, according to the time, and he'd had two pints of cool blood from a cup. He was weary, more so than usual, but the pain made him restless.  
  
With a sick headache, Olrox found himself studying his wrist. 'I wonder...' Raising it to his lips, and for some reason thankful that no one was watching, he bit into it, wincing when the artery was pierced. But it was blood, and, God, he was so hungry.  
  
When he made himself pull back Olrox found that he had slid down onto the floor. The pain in his chest had lessened slightly, but he was more tired than before. He looked at the clock. 'Nearly eight. The sun's been up for an hour or so.' Miserable and frustrated, Olrox dragged himself to bed. At least he wouldn't ache while he was sleeping.  
  
Richter didn't know who had left the keys to the ladies' cells lying there for him to find, but whoever it was, the slayer was grateful. Annette and her two friends were safe, and Maria walked beside him, as she had insisted. To Richter's surprise, she had actually proved to be very useful, and her cheerful company was a welcome relief in this place. With his free hand, he fingered the black ribbon he'd found. They were walking through a stretch of hallway that was so destitute of life, or unlife, that it was really rather boring.  
  
Maria's eyes caught the odd movement. "What is that?" Richter glanced down and absently handed the ribbon to her. "Oh," she said, after a moment, "it's Domn Trandafir's hair ribbon. I hope he has another one. He's such a goose; I kept telling him and telling him to tie it tighter."  
  
"What?" Richter queried, utterly lost.  
  
Brightening even more at the chance to talk, Maria explained. "Oh, Richter, he was terribly kind. He was our warden, but he brought me books to read, and he asked what I'd like for supper, and we talked and talked, and his ribbon was always falling out, or about to fall out, or loose, and I'd retie it, and sometimes he let me braid his hair to give me something else to do, but once I got it tangled in knots and I must have pulled his poor hair awfully hard getting them untangled again, and-"  
  
Richter tried valiantly to keep pace with the quick flow of words. "Your warden was human?" That was odd; he certainly hadn't seen any normal people here.  
  
Maria shook her head. "No, no, he was a vampire, like the one who kidnapped us; but he was really very nice."  
  
Ah, that was it. Richter sighed. "Maria, please don't tell me you've forgotten what I've told you about those monsters already."  
  
The girl huffed. "I haven't forgotten. But he wasn't like that at all; he never hurt any of us, and he didn't want to. If you met him-"  
  
"If I met him, I'm sure I would have conceded that he was a very good actor. Vampires are natural liars, Maria. Please, let's not argue about this anymore."  
  
They continued walking in silence, Maria pouting, and Richter musing, a little disturbed at what his fiancée and her sister had been in such close contact with.   
  
##  
  
Olrox's pissy mood brought to you by Limp Bizkit's "Break Stuff." That's what happens when you write while listening to the radio. Don't let it happen to you.   
  
Bulangiu-English equivalent of bastard  
  
I know, I know, I said I'd do better this time. I didn't. I'm sorry. Busy. Tired. Miscellaneous excuses. 


	16. Brother Against Brother

Olrox wasn't surprised this time when he looked down on a balcony of the Poenari fortress. The human Vlad stood, leaning his elbows on the railing and looking out over Wallchia. It was an hour or so before dawn, judging by the sky, and Vlad had a weariness of posture that suggested he hadn't slept at all. After a minute or so, Simu's head poked out through the door, and the man stepped outside, timidly, as though loathe to disturb his prince.  
  
"You sent for me, my lord?"  
  
Vlad glanced backward and beckoned with his hand; Simu walked out to stand beside him. Looking back out over the foothills, Vlad said, "I saw a horse leaving. There has been a message?"  
  
Simu nodded. "Da, domnule; from your wife."  
  
Vlad's voice was soft. "It is not good news." He sighed.  
  
Simu sighed as well. "No, domnule, it is not. One can always tell by the messenger's manner."  
  
Vlad continued looking out. "You have the scroll?"  
  
Olrox saw Simu knit his brows and fidget with the scroll he held. "Yes, but perhaps..."  
  
"What, Simu?"  
  
Simu looked at the stones beneath his feet. "Perhaps it would be wise to wait until tomorrow to read it, when you are rested."  
  
Vlad gazed at his captain. He was clearly fatigued, and for a moment he seemed years older than he was. "It is already tomorrow, and we never rest until we rest in our graves. Give me the scroll, Simu."  
  
Mumbling an apology, Simu handed over the paper.  
  
Vlad broke the wax seal and read. After a minute or so, his face fell. Rolling the paper again, his closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes and looked out into space again. Simu watched his prince silently, not daring to comment. If Vlad saw fit to say anything, he would.  
  
Several minutes passed. When Vlad spoke, Simu jumped slightly. "Ana had pneumonia." His voice was rough, and so quiet it was nearly a whisper. Ana was Vlad youngest, his only daughter. She had been weak and sickly from birth, and Simu knew without asking that the child had not survived.  
  
"I'm sorry, Vlad," Simu said quietly, squeezing Vlad's shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. If Vlad even heard him, he didn't respond.  
  
After a minute or so, Simu realized that Vlad had fallen asleep standing up. Gently shaking his prince, he waited for Vlad's eyes to open, letting the man gather his wits before speaking.  
  
"Perhaps it's time you tried to get some rest, domnule," Simu said softly. Vlad nodded blearily, and Olrox found himself following along as the two men, leaning on one another, moved back through the doors and through the fortress. At one point, they had to cross the main hall, where a few early risers were already eating breakfast. Before reaching the place, little by little, Vlad's posture and expression changed, and by the time the two had reached the entrance to the hall, Vlad was standing up straight, on his own, head held high, all traces of fatigue and grief pushed aside. He crossed the room with a regal air, and Olrox noticed the admiring looks and murmurs of the soldiers and servants, as well as the younger soldiers' open stares of hero worship.  
  
Gaining once again the narrow hallways and stairways, Vlad quickened his pace, and when Simu caught up, he saw unfamiliar tear tracks on his prince's face; Olrox gathered that Vlad wanted to reach his own quarters as quickly as possible, before anyone else saw his loss of composure. For whatever reason, most people didn't expect or want human weaknesses in their leaders, and a glimpse of a Prince Dracula who was coming apart at the seams would be disastrous for his troops' morale.  
  
Upon entering Vlad's chambers, Simu quietly shut the door and waited to see if any specific tasks were to be carried out while his prince slept. He and Olrox both were unprepared when Vlad suddenly asked, "Are you an informant, Simu?"  
  
Simu's eyes widened. "I...What? I don't understand, domnule."  
  
Faster than Simu could dodge, Vlad leapt forward and skillfully pinned his captain. Twisting Simu's arm behind his back, Vlad drew a dagger from a sheath in his boot and pressed it to the unlucky man's throat. "What I mean, you two-faced scoundrel, is that it has come to my attention that only a fortnight ago my brother," he very nearly spat the word, "held a private conference here with you." Olrox could see a tiny sliver of red where throat and dagger met, and saw Simu try to pull his head up a little higher. In answer, Vlad twisted Simu's arm a little higher as well. "What went on, what did you do?" His voice was pained, and his face was wet. Nonetheless, a small yelp from Simu indicated that the arm had been wrenched yet higher.  
  
Simu spoke quickly, aware that hesitation on his part would be very unhealthy. "He...he asked me to defect. He said...agh...he said you were mad, that it was best if Wallachia were taken out of your hands. Au! Please! He...he proposed that I be a...a general for the sultan, and govern Wallachia after it was conquered." He gritted his teeth, fighting to keep still while sweat stung his eyes. Moving any farther back would break his arm, but letting himself fall forward would slit his throat. His free arm was starting to tremble under his and Vlad's combined weight.   
  
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the chattering of Simu's teeth. Vlad shifted a bit, and Simu gasped as the dagger bit into his skin again.   
  
"And?"  
  
Trembling all over now, Simu stammered, "I...I t-turned him d-down. H-h-he was...was angry and...and...and insulted m-me. I...t-told him to l-l-leave and...and...and...he d-did." He sobbed as Vlad feinted moving the dagger. "Nothing more happened! That's all, I swear! I would never betray you and my family. I would never betray you. I swear. Please, domnule..."  
  
Vlad paused for a moment. Taking the dagger away from Simu's throat, he let go of the captain's arm and they both stood up. They stared at each other for a long moment, both tearful, Simu nursing his sore arm, a light red smear across his throat.  
  
Finally, through another choked sob, Simu said, "May I be of any further assistance, domnule?"  
  
Vlad looked down, unable to meet his captain's eyes. "No. No, you are dismissed, Olrox." His eyes remained downcast as Simu nearly ran out the door, slamming it closed after him.  
  
Shaking his head, Vlad cleaned and sheathed the dagger. Then, silently, he changed and sank into bed.  
  
**   
  
More than that, Olrox didn't see, because he was becoming more and more aware of a deep pain throbbing in his chest and skull, and spreading through his veins. He awoke to find himself in much worse shape than the night before. Wincing and gasping with the effort of movement, he stood, and was so overcome with dizziness that he had to grip the bedpost to steady himself.  
  
In the next room was, once again, a vessel of blood, but this was cold and thick. It tasted foul, but it was better than nothing. Olrox gulped it quickly, and when it was gone he could hardly believe it. 'That was a tease; now I feel worse than before...'   
  
It hurt to move, so Olrox sat still for a time. It made him ache to sit still, so he got up and began pacing as he had the night before. He tried to do some work to take his mind off the pain, but it was impossible to concentrate, and his hands were shaking; he could barely put quill to paper without the ink splotching. When he finally ruined the nib of the pen entirely, he threw the spotting paper on the fire and watched it listlessly. Aside from the agony sparking and throbbing throughout his being was an exhausting tension; he felt like a violin string stretched too tightly.   
  
When he bit himself this time, the only relief came in the form of the pain the wound itself caused, distracting him for a moment from his hunger pangs. The blood, however, only made his hunger keener. 'I don't think I can stand much more of this...'   
  
It was two hours before sunrise when Vlad entered the room. Olrox didn't know when exactly he'd come in, hadn't noticed, but there he was, sitting in an armchair near the fireplace, watching the vampire huddled on the floor with mild pity.  
  
"Copil, what am I going to do with you?" Vlad suddenly asked, wearily, as he pulled a key ring out of his pocket and tossed it onto the floor at Olrox's feet. A few keys were missing, but Olrox recognized it as his. His strained heart jumped a bit at that.  
  
"For whatever reason, you seem hell-bent on being troublesome, and I honestly don't know how to deal with you except for this." Olrox kept his eyes fixed on the keyring, silent. "Olrox," Vlad continued, "why did you release those women, after I entrusted them exclusively to you?"  
  
Olrox paused before answering; then, never lifting his eyes from the floor, muttered, "I don't know." And he didn't anymore, thanks to the pain; he couldn't focus enough to remember his earlier thoughts, or even to completely understand the question he'd been asked.  
  
Fingers lifted his chin, and Olrox found himself facing Vlad, who was now kneeling on the floor, clearly displeased. "Copil," he said quietly, "this is the second time in only a year that you have broken my trust. Consider this an ultimatum; either learn your place, or I will teach it to you. I am deadly earnest in this, Olrox." He made no threat other than that, leaving that work to Olrox's imagination. Olrox only stared at his elder blearily, not quite comprehending what was being said, but shuddering nonetheless.   
  
Vlad sighed. "You're not paying attention, are you? I wonder about your blood, Olrox, if this is all the longer you can last..." He moved to push Olrox's hair out of his face, but pulled his hand back when Olrox made a snap at it.  
  
Olrox couldn't understand why Vlad had stood up and left so suddenly. After a moment, though, his mind settled back into its dull track of trying to ignore his hunger.   
  
He was unaware of the time that passed, but a noise startled him into looking upward. The poor woman had been locked in the room for scarcely ten seconds before Olrox noticed her. A brief scream and one minute later, Olrox gazed bemusedly down at the corpse, still hungry but feeling infinitely better.   
  
When he felt lucid enough, Olrox stood and surveyed the room, aside from the ruined pen on his desk, all was in order. 'More so, in fact.' A second glance at the desk revealed a note, written in a disturbingly regular hand.   
  
'Copil,  
  
An important matter requires my immediate attention; perhaps we may attempt a lucid conversation tomorrow evening. You will, of course, forgive me your prolonged isolation, but my anger, I realize, needs a bit more time to cool.   
  
I remain, as ever,  
  
Faithfully Yours,  
  
V.T.D.'  
  
Olrox read if over once more, then crumpled the letter and threw it on the fire with a snort of disgust. 'Faithfully yours, indeed. He doesn't bother with me at all unless I've done something wrong...'   
  
The former pain having been dulled to a slight irritation, Olrox decided to try to pass the time by sleeping. Stalking into his bedroom, he glanced by chance into the mirror.  
  
He stopped, transfixed.  
  
His skin was a chalky gray color, his hair lank and lusterless, dark circles ringed his eyes, the whites of which had turned sickly yellow. Looking at his hands more closely, he could see the bones and sinews standing out. Running his hands over himself, he could feel ribs and hipbones through the fabric of his clothing. If he looked like this now, after he'd fed, what must he have looked like when Vlad had seen him? 'No wonder that poor woman screamed. I look like a corpse, and it must be an improvement...' Studying himself once more, Olrox sighed, and turned away. Collapsing on the bed, he stared at the ceiling for an hour or so before dozing off.  
  
**  
  
Evening came too soon. Olrox watched the locked door apprehensively, not remembering what had transpired during Vlad's last visit but hoping he hadn't done or said anything he'd come to regret.  
  
Olrox heard a key turn in the lock, and Vlad let himself in without a word. By way of greeting, he gave the human he'd brought with him a gentle nudge in Olrox's direction. Olrox caught the frightened man's eyes easily, silently beckoning. The human complied as though drawn by strings. Looping an arm around the human's shoulders and murmuring soothingly, Olrox brought his other hand up to pull the man's head to one side, sighing as he bit. He closed his eyes, blissful at the warmth and sweetness of another meal. He felt the chill in his body and the aches in his joints fading, even as the human's struggles faded. He was interrupted by an impatient cough from Vlad, and he felt himself blush as he pulled the blood a little faster. He'd decided months ago that he hated, hated, hated being watched while he fed. He felt very self-conscious, and Vlad's insensitivity toward Olrox's victims annoyed him. Finally feeling the body in his arms grow colder, Olrox laid the dead human on the floor and looked up at his elder.   
  
Vlad scrutinized him. "Much better. Now you merely look like a consumption survivor."  
  
Olrox tried not to sulk. "Thanks to you," he said.  
  
Vlad came closer. "I have every right to maintain order on my own lands." He stopped two paces from Olrox. "I don't suppose you remember why I had you confined here in the first place?" It was more a statement than a question.  
  
Olrox shook his head, embarrassed.  
  
Vlad pointed to the floor, where Olrox's key ring still lay. Olrox went a bit paler.  
  
"I...I must have forgotten them..." he stammered.  
  
"Yes, how convenient. I trust that this juvenile stunt of yours was an isolated incident?" Vlad kept himself under control, but Olrox didn't miss the poorly veiled threat behind the calm words.  
  
Olrox nodded. He realized he'd been braver when he'd dropped the keys for the human to find. He also realized that there were times to be brave, and there were times when it was far more prudent to keep quiet and do as you were told. 'The past half-year has taught me that much, at least...' For good measure, he added, "I'm sorry, domule."  
  
Vlad sighed, and tucked a strand of lank hair behind Olrox's ear. "Somehow I doubt the sincerity of that, but there's no point in keeping you here any longer." Olrox's face brightened. "Make yourself presentable, and then you can be back about your business."  
  
"Are you still angry?" It was a stupid question, in retrospect.  
  
"Oh, very." Vlad caught hold of Olrox's throat. "In fact, the temptation to wring your treacherous little neck is nearly too great to bear." Then, as abruptly as he'd nearly strangled Olrox, he pulled the younger vampire into an embrace. "I won't. You're outrageous sometimes, but I love you, copil."  
  
He let go and headed for the door. As he left, he said over his shoulder, "Enough rebellion. You have no idea how much that hurt me, copil."  
  
After he was gone, Olrox rubbed his throat and grumbled under his breath. "You got your remuneration, though, didn't you..." His teeth were chattering uncontrollably. He couldn't quite decide what frightened him more, the fact that Vlad had admitted to a strong urge to kill him, or the complete about-face in the elder's sentiments only seconds later. 'Perhaps I'm better off ignored.'  
  
**  
  
Seeing himself in the mirror had been a shock, but it couldn't compare to bathing. As Olrox tried to work the knots out of his hair (apparently he'd fidgeted with it) he wrinkled his nose in disgust at his gray, emaciated frame. 'Most of the zombies I've seen look healthier than this...' Still, the warm water was soothing, provided he looked at the walls and not himself, and after he'd finished and was dressed again in clean garments, he had to admit that he did look a little better. Still awful, but better. What he really needed was a good, long meal. 'It will mean changing my clothes again.'  
  
"Damn."  
  
**  
  
"Well, hello, Olrox!" Torio chirped, meeting the vampire in the corridor. His expression changed to one of concern. "You're looking a little under the weather; are you ill?"  
  
Olrox chuckled. "This is nothing, you should have seen me two hours ago. No, I just angered the powers that be." He felt so much better after his feed that he couldn't help but be in high spirits.  
  
"Ah," Torio nodded in understanding, and wisely changed the subject. "Now, that's an unusual dye pattern for this region. I must say the red and yellow is very fetching." He tipped his head to one side. "New style?"  
  
"Actually," Olrox replied, with a playful grin, "the waistcoat is yellow. I've just eaten, you see." This improved his mood greatly, and, for some reason, Torio's grimace of revulsion improved it even more so.  
  
The tengu gulped. "Ah. Yes, I...see. Um...yes. You've got a dribble of something just there." He rubbed the corner of his mouth.  
  
Olrox flicked out his tongue to clean up the offending blood. "Thank you." He paused for a moment. "Up for a game of chess? I'd like to shirk my duties a little longer."  
  
"Only if you change your coat first, friend."  
  
"Sounds fair."  
  
**  
  
Olrox studied the board, caught between two possible moves for the rook he held. Torio wasn't a great help, trying to throw his companion's concentration by keeping up a stream of endless chatter. The vampire made no attempt to curb his friend's tongue, however. He'd missed the bird-man.  
  
"Did you hear about the human, Olrox-kun?" Torio had finally dropped the 'sama' suffix if favor of a more familiar term.  
  
"What now?" Olrox murmured absently, finally placing his piece down at random.  
  
Torio took a moment to study the board. "Apparently he'd managed to free four women." He grinned, then suppressed it as his eyes raked over the board again. "No one knows how he got the keys to their cells; they were supposed to have been given to a rather high-ranking person." He moved his bishop and captured Olrox's luckless rook.  
  
Olrox frowned and furrowed his brow, wondering how he'd missed the move. "He moves in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform," he muttered, contemplating his next move.  
  
Torio looked a little disappointed. "I thought you'd be a bit more interested than that."  
  
"Why?" Olrox captured one of Torio's pawns. Hopefully the tengu would change the subject.  
  
Torio looked puzzled. "I...I don't know. It seemed important."  
  
Olrox glanced up, apologetic. "I'm sorry, Torio-kun. I've been a bit preoccupied lately."  
  
Nodding sagely, Torio said, "Is it about the-"  
  
"I'd rather not discuss it, Torio," Olrox snapped, and immediately apologized again. "I'm just not myself quite yet."  
  
**  
  
Torio had gone shortly after they'd finished their game, happy enough over his first win, but showing some friendly concern over Olrox's condition. Olrox sat staring at the chessboard, looking through the pieces without really seeing them. His own odd mood swing had upset him. 'I wonder if all vampires are like this. I'm becoming as mad as Vlad is.'  
  
He worked for a few hours, and read listlessly, trying to steady his nerves. The chiming of the clock told him eventually that it was five o'clock, nearly sunrise. Olrox took the excuse to go to bed early, and had one of the skeletons straighten the room.  
  
**  
  
Sitting in a large, richly furnished room, a man Olrox hadn't seen before held a small bundle. Two young boys stood hovering over it, curious. Olrox looked over their small shoulders to see an infant. They were conversing softly; Olrox caught the tail end of a sentence before paying attention.  
  
"His name is Radu," the man said quietly. The smaller boy (he looked to be around three or four) reached his hand out over the bundle. A tiny hand reached up and curled around one of the boy's fingers.   
  
The older boy, probably seven, grinned. "He's so little," he breathed, greatly amused.  
  
"You don't remember Vlad being that small, Mircea?" the man asked, amused crow's feet gathering around his eyes as he smiled.  
  
The older boy shook his head, while the younger looked up in wonder. "I wasn't this small, was I, Tata?"  
  
The man ran his free hand through the child's hair. "Of course you were. Mircea was, and your mother and I were too, when we were born."  
  
The child narrowed his eyes as he contemplated this new revelation. At his age, he'd probably assumed, as most small children do, that his parents had always just...existed.   
  
"Where's Mama?" Mircea asked.  
  
"She's very tired," their father explained. "She's sleeping. You may speak to her tomorrow."  
  
The image went out of focus, making Olrox a little queasy. The world quickly reorganized itself, and Olrox looked down at older boys walking through a torchlit hallway.  
  
"I still don't understand, Mircea," said the smallest one. The hair and eyes looked vaguely familiar. "Why do we have to go?"  
  
Mircea, who looked to be around seventeen this time, glanced down with pity on his youngest brother. "The sultan simply wants to make sure Father is still loyal to him, Radu. You won't be there long, I promise. And I hear the sultan has a son about Vlad's age. Think of it like a sort of...vacation. Maybe you can even write to us back here about how you're getting on."  
  
The third boy raised one eyebrow, but didn't speak.  
  
Radu continued, confused. "I thought we were Emperor Sigismund's allies. Aren't the emperor and the sultan enemies?"  
  
The third boy spoke. "The sultan helped Father take the throne back from Basarab last year. Do you disremember why we moved back to the palace?"  
  
"Oh." Radu looked at the floor, embarrassed.  
  
Mircea soothed his wounded pride. "It was a very short battle; perhaps you were still too young to quite understand what happened."  
  
"No," the smallest boy said, "I forgot."  
  
The three were silent for a moment. All looked decidedly uncomfortable.  
  
The silence was broken by Radu's soft sniffle. "I don't want to go."  
  
"Neither do I," the third boy said calmly, "but Mircea promised we wouldn't be with the sultan for very long, so we won't." He spoke with the finality of one with every confidence in his older brother. "Besides, Father wouldn't have agreed to this if he thought we'd be in danger."  
  
This seemed to mollify the young one. After a few more minutes of walking, the trio stepped out into a courtyard. Olrox was dazzled by the bright sunlight for a minute or two; when he adjusted to the light, he saw the father of the boys talking with a man who must have been a Turk. A group of more Turks were busy checking their horses' tack, preparing to leave.  
  
Radu and Vlad eyed the other man apprehensively. His clothes were strange, flowing silk, and looked very expensive and fine. A pristine white turban perched on top of his head. He looked down his nose at them momentarily, then, as if deciding it wasn't worth the trouble, he shifted his gaze back to their father, and they continued their discussion.  
  
Mircea and his brothers exchanged sympathetic looks.  
  
After a few more tense minutes, their father turned to them. He looked sad, and a little nervous. "They've finished packing. Are you ready?"  
  
Vlad nodded, and Radu mimicked his brother, though his eyes glistened. Their father leaned down and gathered them into a brief hug.  
  
"Voivode Dracul."  
  
Sighing, the man let go, and Mircea took his turn to say goodbye.  
  
"We must leave now," the man insisted, and Radu shot him a small glare.   
  
The voivode nodded wearily and watched as a few Turks helped his younger sons onto a horse whose halter was tied to the pommel of the general's saddle. "I have no cause to worry for their safety." His tone almost begged for reassurance.  
  
The man looked grave. "The hand of the excellent sultan will shield them from all harm." With a curt bow, he mounted his own horse. "Allah smiles upon your loyalty, voivode. Word of your sons will be sent when we reach Adrianople."  
  
They started off, the boys looking back until their father and brother, and then the palace, disappeared from view. Olrox couldn't help but notice that there was no mother seeing them off.  
  
"You're crying," Vlad noticed.  
  
Radu rubbed his eyes with his sleeve. "I'm sorry. I won't cry when we get there."  
  
"Good," Vlad replied with approval. He saw that some of the other riders were staring. He straightened his back and returned their gaze with a haughty glare of his own. Eventually, the men turned their eyes away and began talking in low voices in a language Vlad didn't know well.  
  
"Why did you do that?" Radu asked, alarmed.  
  
"We're princes; they've no right to gawk at us like beasts in a cage."  
  
"What are they saying?"  
  
"Something about barbarians. I care not. Neither should you. They are only soldiers, they can think what they like."  
  
Radu sighed. "I wish I was brave like you and Mircea and Father."  
  
The general glanced back for a second, his face somewhat softened.  
  
"You will be," Vlad murmured.   
  
The world shifted again. Vlad and Radu were now dressed in much the same manner as the Turks, and they sat on cushions in a small but richly furnished room of what Olrox assumed to be the Ottoman palace. One more boy sat with them, the same age and size as Vlad. He had an olivine complexion and black eyes. His hair was black, also, and curled in ringlets. His dress and posture bespoke high lineage.   
  
"I am told you were taught our language?" said the boy.  
  
"Yes, though our teacher went rather quickly," Vlad answered.  
  
The boy smirked. "You speak it very badly." Olrox decided that he didn't like this new boy.  
  
Vlad snarled, but Radu laid a hand on his arm. "We are still learn...learning. We need more practice yet," Radu managed painfully.  
  
The boy smiled warmly and patted Radu's hand. Vlad jerked his brother's hand away. "You can talk to me whenever you'd like, Prince Radu. Unless, of course, I need your brother's permission?" He smirked at Vlad again, but there was a trace of a challenge in his eyes.  
  
Vlad coughed, rolling his eyes and trying to look nonchalant. "It makes no difference to me."  
  
The boy went on as though he hadn't heard. "Your brother has very pale skin, Vlad. Is he ill?"  
  
"No," Vlad said, trying to remain civil. "He takes after our mother."  
  
"Oh, so you know your mother?" the boy asked, eyes sparkling. "I'd always thought that barbarians mated like animals."  
  
Vlad spoke through clenched teeth. "Our mother was a noblewoman."  
  
Radu interceded, quelling his brother's anger. "Our parents were married, Mehmed," he said meekly.  
  
"Really?" the boy said. "Fascinating. I have several wives myself, of course," he went on, "It's really rather boring. I think wives are very overrated. Good for having children, I suppose, but not much else." He didn't notice, or pretended not to notice, Vlad grinding his teeth. "What is your mother like? Is she empty-headed, like mine is?"  
  
"She's dead." Vlad's voice quivered with rage; red tinted his cheeks.  
  
"She caught childbed fever," Radu added.  
  
Mehmed's manner abruptly changed to one of sincere sympathy. "Oh, I am truly sorry, Radu, I had no idea. Why do you always wait for your brother to speak first? If you'd told me in the first place, I wouldn't have spoken so foolishly."  
  
Radu blushed and looked down.  
  
"You are married?" Radu asked politely after a minute or so in an effort to break the growing tension in the air.  
  
"Of course," Mehmed replied glibly. "I get another wife every few months lately." He smiled condescendingly and tilted his head to one side. "Do you need me to explain how wives work? All you need do is ask; no reason to be embarrassed."  
  
Both Vlad and Radu turned pink. "We understand perfectly well, thank you," Vlad said curtly. Radu mumbled an excuse and stood to leave.   
  
"Perhaps I could show you the gardens later this afternoon, Radu?" Mehmed inquired sweetly. "I'd like to talk with you some more."  
  
Radu nodded shyly and slipped out the door.  
  
"Don't forget!" Mehmed called after him. He focused back on Vlad and smirked lazily. "He's made a rather good start here," he began, conversationally. "In fact, I think he'll do very well." His expression became more serious. "You, I'm not so sure of. And I'd hoped we would be such good friends."  
  
"I can't imagine why." Vlad didn't hide his glare now that Radu was out of the room, and he let more than a note of disdain creep into his voice.  
  
Mehmed leaned forward slightly. "Watch yourself, barbarian brat. I am not a pleasant enemy to have."  
  
"Nor am I."  
  
"You think you're someone important, don't you?" Mehmed glared as well, his humor gone. "Ha! The voivode is just another of my father's governors. Your father doesn't even own the land, really. If the sultan wanted him out of Wallachia he could do it within a day."  
  
Vlad growled. "Believe what you wish." He stood to leave. "Oh, and before it slips my mind," he said. "If you do or say anything to upset my brother, I will personally show you just how wrong you are to think my family weak."  
  
"Your brother is old enough to care for himself." The sultan's son rose as well.  
  
"No. No, he isn't," Vlad said, gravely. "Remember that."  
  
Mehmed turned and left. "Oh, I will."  
  
The two exited through different doors, each one an adolescent storm cloud.  
  
Suddenly, the room changed again, now becoming a bedroom with a single tall, narrow window. Sitting on a cushion before the window, staring glumly out at the night sky, was Vlad.  
  
The door across the room inched open, and a small figure slipped inside. Casting a worried glace at his brother, Radu tried to creep unnoticed to his bed on the far wall.  
  
"You enjoyed yourself, I hope?"  
  
Radu jumped. "Oh! Um...yes. I am sorry, frate," he continued more softly, "I forgot. How long did you wait?"  
  
Olrox had missed something, apparently, but he kept listening. It wasn't as though he had much choice in the matter.  
  
Vlad looked at the ceiling as he counted hours in his head. "Well, you were supposed to meet me in the lower kitchens after supper, but after staying there for two hours, I decided that perhaps you'd gone to your rooms, so I came here. That was...three hours ago."  
  
"I am sorry."  
  
Vlad waved off the apology. "It was an accident. Come here." When Radu hesitated, he barked, "Come here, damnit; I will not bite you! And speak our language. No one is here to be offended by it."  
  
Radu sat down beside his brother. "I speak it so seldom now that it has become habit to speak Arabic," he said guiltily in his mother tongue.  
  
Vlad calmed down as he went through his pockets for something. "Break the habit, then. I don't expect we will be here much longer." Frowning, he searched his pockets more thoroughly.   
  
Radu fidgeted with his clothing. "You said that last year as well."  
  
"What?" Vlad looked up for a moment. "I did not hear you."  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Oh." The elder brother turned his attention back to his search. "Ah, here it is." He pulled a small wooden object from a sleeve pocket and handed it to his brother. "Happy birthday."  
  
"Thank you, frate." When Radu moved his hands out of the way, Olrox could see that it was a little carved horse. It looked like it had been very time consuming, with tiny etched lines to indicate eyes, hair, and muscles. It had been sanded smooth, and fit neatly in Radu's palm.  
  
Vlad looked on Radu's admiration of the little thing with approval. "It was supposed to be a bit larger," he said, "But I kept making mistakes."  
  
Radu smiled reassuringly. "Well, it is perfect now." He transferred the horse to the other hand, and the moonlight glinted off of something on his left hand. Vlad spotted it, and, catching hold of Radu's wrist, held it in front of the window, letting the light fall full on it. The glint had been made by a silver ring. Meant for an adult hand, Radu had to wear it on his thumb; the ring was so large that it spanned the length between the boy's knuckles. Vlad turned his brother's hand from side to side, examining the pattern of the ring's many woven bands of silver. It wasn't a petty trinket-mounted on the interlocking bands were thirteen maroon garnets.  
  
"Who gave this to you?" Vlad asked quietly.  
  
"Mehmed...It was a birthday present," Radu answered just as softly, knowing what was coming.  
  
Instead of exploding, however, Vlad remained silent. He grasped the ring to remove it.  
  
But Radu jerked his hand away. "Don't!"  
  
Vlad glared. "Why not?" he snapped peevishly.  
  
Covering the ring with his other hand, Radu said, "If I take it off, it will fall apart. See?" He held up his hand so that Vlad could see the underside of the ring. Sure enough, the ring was composed of eight separate bands that interlocked like a puzzle. "I don't know how to put it back together, and he would be offended if he saw me without it."  
  
Vlad crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. "Are you truly fond of him, or do you simply put up with him because he does you favors?" Since Radu ignored this, Vlad went on nonchalantly, "And Mehmed expects you to take that thing to the grave?"  
  
"No, of course not." Radu glanced at the floor. "But I have only had it for an hour, so-"  
  
Vlad pounced. "Oh, so that's where you were?" He would have gone on had Radu not interrupted his tirade before it got started.  
  
"Frate, stop. I don't want to hear you complain about Mehmed today. I cannot understand why the two of you will not tolerate one another."  
  
"He won't leave you alone, and he is the reason I have spent the last three months cleaning ovens. That is reason enough to dislike him."  
  
Radu sighed. "I know he can be rather...thoughtless."  
  
"That does not begin to describe him."  
  
Radu jumped back in before Vlad could describe Mehmed himself. "But you have more in common than either of you think. If you would make an effort to-"  
  
"No."  
  
"You haven't even given him a chance!"  
  
"Nor will I!"  
  
Vlad brought his knees up to his chin and looked out the window. Radu took a deep breath and spoke calmly, though his brother was now ignoring him.   
  
"I know you hate living here," Radu began. Vlad didn't move. "And I know you are not treated very well." Here Olrox noticed for the first time that Vlad's clothes were too big and rather worn, servants' hand-me-downs. "But I think you're making everything harder than it needs to be."  
  
At that last remark, Vlad peered sidelong at Radu for a second, raising one eyebrow.  
  
"Well," Radu said, "you are. I mean, you are unfriendly, and you must be pressed to cooperate with anyone." His voice softened as his brother's glare intensified. "You can make yourself very disagreeable, actually."  
  
"Disagreeable?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Vlad turned to face his brother. "So you think I'd be happier if I stop being who I am? If I sat quietly and listened to the old men and the sultan lie about their soldiering, if I abandoned Catholicism and went to the mosque as you do, if I become utterly spineless and let the sultan's family control every aspect of my life as though I was some pet animal, my life would be easier? No. I am a prince of Wallachia, and once we are home you will remember that you are one as well."   
  
  
  
Radu sighed and shook his head. "Vlad, we have been here for two years now, and always you say that we will be sent home soon. Don't you think that perhaps..."  
  
"Perhaps what?"  
  
"That perhaps we won't be going back to Wallachia?" Radu blurted quickly, fearful of his brother's reaction.  
  
"Why wouldn't we go home?"  
  
"Well," answered the younger boy, "Mircea is the crown prince. And Wallachia is at war. Maybe Tata thought it best if we were...out of the way."  
  
"Who told you that?"  
  
Radu glared back at his brother. "Why must anyone have told me anything? I am capable of thinking for myself, you know."  
  
"Really? I hadn't noticed."  
  
The younger brother had been growing steadily more agitated; now it seemed he had had enough. "You don't notice anything! You do nothing but pity yourself and cling to a promise that has already been broken." Radu trailed off as he listened to his own outburst.  
  
Vlad stared at his brother a long while. When he stood, Radu cringed back momentarily. "I'm going to leave," Vlad hissed, "before I do something I'll regret."  
  
"That's an excellent idea."  
  
At that moment, Olrox felt a sharp tug at his heart. He awoke with a cry, looking around himself in confused panic. But, as quickly as it had come, the pain was gone, and Olrox allowed himself to be dragged back down into sleep.  
  
There was Vlad again, nearly grown and a carbon copy of his father. He was grooming a gray horse; from the soft crooning noises he made to calm the skittish animal, Olrox assumed that it must have been Vlad's own mount. Vlad continued on serenely for a few minutes, gently untangling hair and plucking burrs from the horse's coat.  
  
Olrox did not at first recognize Vlad's brother when he entered the stables. Radu had been transformed over the years from a timid child into a stately young man. As he strode toward the stall where Vlad was working the elder brother glanced up, glowered, and lowered his eyes.  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
Radu sighed and entered the stall to stand on the horse's opposite side, being careful not to dirty his brightly-colored robes. Resting his hands lightly on the animal's back, he peered over at his brother with a look of mixed pity and contempt.  
  
"You are difficult to find, you know," he said, his voice now smoother, deeper with age.  
  
Vlad snorted, not looking up. "There is a very good reason for that."  
  
"Will you not ask why I am here?"  
  
With a heavy sigh, Vlad answered, "Why do you come to annoy me, Radu?"  
  
"The sultan sent me to tell you a bit of...bad news. He thought it best that you hear it from me rather than a messenger."  
  
Vlad never so much as glanced up from his work. "Bad news is nothing new to me. Tell me what it is and leave."  
  
Radu paused briefly, then spoke. "There has been word of Father and Mircea."  
  
Instantly Vlad's manner changed. The curry brush was dropped, forgotten, as Vlad stared wide-eyed at his brother. When Radu said no more, Vlad reached over and snatched up one of Radu's slim hands in his own, imploringly. The horse balked slightly at the sudden movement.   
  
"Frate! Frate, I apologize. Please, what news? What has happened?" Radu hesitated. Vlad squeezed his brother's hand harder. "...There has been no word for so long..."  
  
Radu dropped his gaze, unable to look his hopeful brother in the eye. "Father is dead," he said simply.  
  
Shocked, Vlad slowly, slowly released Radu's hand. "No," he breathed. After a few deep breaths, he asked, "How?" He sounded choked.  
  
Speaking quietly, Radu continued to look at the horse's back rather than at his brother. "The letter said that he was assassinated, but did not say how."  
  
Vlad stood very still for a long moment. Suddenly, he came to. "We must go back to Wallachia."  
  
Radu shook his head. "No, Vlad, we-"  
  
"Stop! We do not have time for your foolishness, Radu!" Calming himself, Vlad went on. "If Father has been slain, then Mircea may be in danger. He may have been driven from the country; what if he is pursued?"  
  
"He is not pursued!" Radu shouted back. He, too, checked his frustration and spoke softly. "And he will not leave Wallachia."  
  
They held one another's stares as the meaning of Radu's words sank in. Vlad's eyes widened; he sank back against the stall partition, shaking his head slightly.  
  
"It cannot be..." he whispered.  
  
"Frate..."  
  
"God...Frate, please," Vlad pleaded, tears beginning to roll down his face. "Please, not Mircea as well..." He trailed off when Radu didn't answer.  
  
For several long minutes, the brothers remained silent, separated by the horse. One silently wept into his hands, with the other staring into the middle distance. Finally, Radu said, almost whispering, "Rumor from Wallachia has it that the boyars had him buried alive."  
  
A low, pained moan escaped Vlad's lips. Then, after a few seconds of deep breathing, he raised eyes red with crying. "Who? Who among them?"  
  
Radu shrugged. "That is not known. They may have acted in concert, for all our messenger knew." He met his brother's gaze for the first time in a quarter of an hour. "You understand of course that you are now heir of Wallachia."  
  
"Yes," Vlad said tonelessly. "But it will be a difficult claim to make."  
  
"Sultan Mehmed is prepared to send as many soldiers as you may require when you return."  
  
Vlad blinked. "And you?" he asked.  
  
Radu looked away. "The sultan believes that I will be of more use here. His intention was that I would replace the late grand vizier."  
  
"Yes, I am sure," Vlad spat, "And did you poison the old man yourself or convince Mehmed to do it for you?"  
  
"I am afraid I do not understand you," Radu returned haughtily, crossing his arms.  
  
"You understand perfectly," Vlad insisted, glaring as he watched Radu nervously fidget with that same garnet ring, which now fit perfectly on the man's ring finger.  
  
"The old die. They need no help, usually." Radu waved his hand, irritated. "This is no time to discuss it, at any rate. You should concentrate on your campaign." He went on, assuming a business-like tone. "If I were you, I'd circle around Wallachia to the north and enter through Transylvania. Perhaps you could convince-"  
  
"Oh, do you never stop?" Vlad snapped. "Is it never enough? Our entire family lies murdered, and you reduce it all to tactics and counsel already!"  
  
"It must be done, Vlad. Quickly."  
  
Vlad shook his head, fists clenching. "You monster." Radu rolled his eyes. "It is all a game for you, is it not? And you hold nothing sacred, not life, not God, not your own family. Not your own body," he added venomously.  
  
Radu took a step back, as far as the stall and the horse would allow. "Vlad, do you think that this is the time to be condemning your own brother when-"  
  
"I have no brother," Vlad spat. Radu stood quiet, angry but too shocked to retort. "This traitor, this craven, scheming, sodomite, this parasite is not my brother. I hate this man to the very center of my bones. My brother lies rotting in some Godforsaken hole in the ground in Wallachia. I will go to him and avenge him. But you!" he jabbed a finger in Radu's direction. "You will not set one worthless foot on that land again."  
  
For a tense minute, the two youths glared at one another, neither moving. Finally, Radu spoke, barely controlling the rage in his voice. "And so," he said softly, "you say what has been in your heart for years at last." He crossed his arms and settled his face into an easy smirk. "Consumed by bitter jealousy. A good thing it is that none of our family lives to see what you have become."  
  
Vlad truly looked as though he'd spring upon his brother and kill him then and there. "What I have become! What I have become, when you drag the Dracula name through mud and pig shit with your sins and your ways! A willing prostitute, an abomination disguised as a man! Father would slit his own throat to know what you have become, to know that there is no depth to which you will not sink for any small gain!"  
  
With that, Vlad clumsily threw the door of the stall open, spooking the horse, and stormed out. He barely caught his brother's mellow voice.  
  
"I will kill you one day," Radu sighed, not bothering to turn around.  
  
"Good. You try that," Vlad snorted. "Try every wicked, backward trick you know. I refuse to fall to such as you."  
  
**  
  
"Master Olrox! Master, please wake up!"   
  
Olrox groaned. Someone was shaking him and calling out insistently. His eyes fluttered open to behold a skeleton. She jumped back a step respectfully and shifted back and forth in anxiety.  
  
"What?" Olrox blearily looked at the clock. Two thirty-five, the height of the afternoon. He was dazed and disoriented. "What is it?"  
  
The skeleton wrung her hand bones; the scraping sound was irritating. "It's Master Dracula. You must come at once, the human...oh! Please come!"  
  
Jolted out of his stupor by the servant's words, Olrox leapt up and motioned for her to lead. The skeleton clattered off, with Olrox struggling to keep pace in his daytime weakness. Skeletons were easily startled, but Olrox felt a growing knot of worry and fear in the pit of his stomach. He'd never been woken at this hour, and by a mere skeleton, no less... 'What's gone wrong now, I wonder?'  
  
After what felt like an eternity of running through a labyrinth of corridors, galleries, and stairways, the skeleton stopped at a familiar set of large double doors. The priest, Shaft, Olrox noticed with a snarl, stood off to the side, pacing in agitation.  
  
"What?" Olrox barked harshly, as the skeleton cowered in the shadows. Shaft's eyes snapped up, bulging slightly, though certainly not through any fear of Olrox. "That human," he stammered. "I don't know how he managed it, but he caught Master Dracula while he was sleeping, and-"  
  
Olrox didn't hear the rest, for he had already burst through the doors of the audience chamber and laboriously ran across to where the body lay. He stopped short, petrified with horror.  
  
Blood. The puddle was already seeping into the mortared cracks in the floor, and it soaked Vlad's clothing and hair. Without his coat and vest, the blood had dyed the older vampire's white shirt a dirty red. The body hadn't been touched, still sprawled out on the ground as it had fallen, the head twisted to one side, disheveled hair half covering the face.   
  
Drawing closer, Olrox could make out partially-healed cuts. Myriad small lacerations formed a strange map over Vlad's flesh, and sliced ribbons out of his shirt and trousers. 'God, his eyes are still open.'   
  
Kneeling in the bloody mess, Olrox felt his throat tighten as he gently turned Vlad's face upwards and closed the corpse's eyes with his fingers. A gaping wound in Vlad's limp neck oozed sluggish, clotting fluid. Mortified, and yet in some way awed, Olrox touched his fingertips to the gash. Lukewarm tears were already stinging his eyes. 'It can't be. It can't be, he's immortal.' "It can't be," he whispered.  
  
Footsteps interrupted him. He turned to see Shaft walking solemnly across the floor. "I truly don't know how it happened. Apparently there was a struggle. It was daylight, and-"  
  
"STOP!" Olrox shouted, surprising even himself at the booming echoes this produced in the high-ceilinged chamber. "This doesn't concern you. Leave me."  
  
Remarkably, Shaft stopped his advance. He stared at the vampire, not quite believing the audacity that had been shown to him. Then, he nodded slowly in apparent understanding and retreated, shutting the huge doors behind him.  
  
Olrox returned his attention to Vlad's remains, sick with helplessness and anguish. He could no more comprehend how a creature as powerful as Vlad could be felled by a mere human than he could fathom his own sorrow at Vlad's passing. "Vlad?" he whispered, as though the elder vampire were only sleeping, could somehow awaken. He did not. Nothing changed but the slow seeping of the blood into the dry mortar, taking on a sour odor as it congealed.  
  
But Olrox was so weary already, and the savage violence of the scene was overwhelming. He slumped weakly downward until his head and shoulders rested on Vlad's inert chest. "God," Olrox moaned softly. "Why..." 'He rescued them; he had what he came for. Why didn't he just leave? Why didn't he just leave us alone...'  
  
Suddenly, over his quiet weeping, Olrox heard the unmistakable sound of a heartbeat. "Ah!" He pressed his ear to his master's chest and strained to hear. Minutes dragged on, but just as Olrox was about to give up and consign the noise to wishful thinking, he heard it again. Very irregular and so very, very weak, but a pulse was there. There was no breath, no movement or sign of life but pitiful, tenacious pulse. "Oh, thank you...thank you," Olrox cried, laughing briefly in relief. "God or Satan, thank you."  
  
**  
  
Tata- Well, duh. What do you think?  
  
Boyar- An aritocrat.  
  
Good gravy, what a busy year I'm having! You wouldn't believe how many months this has taken! Well, I guess you can, considering I dropped off the edge of the world after...August, was it? But with school almost over, hopefully I can make some headway with this. We're past the halfway mark, I think. How about that super-long dream sequence, huh? I had to get more of the backstory out of the way, though. Oh well. It's not like I have any sort of plan for this story... Dialogue between Vlad and Radu was ridiculously hard because a) I've been working on this on and off since last summer, and 2) contractions weren't apparently used much in the middle ages. Damn their hides. Oh well.   
  
Radu: Loser!  
  
Vlad: Ho!  
  
Ah, there's nothing quite like family... 


	17. Lost at Sea

Much as Olrox would have liked to stay by Vlad's side himself, the castle wouldn't run smoothly without someone managing it all. He had Vlad cleaned up and placed in his coffin, with a guard constantly in the room. Olrox had ordered them to inform him of any change in Vlad's condition immediately, however trivial a change it was.  
  
Though he had his reservations at first, keeping track of the castle was little more than what he did every night in his own section, on a larger scale. The castle was completely self-sufficient, and Olrox was relieved to find that most of Vlad's subordinates were competent. On the whole, they knew what was expected of them already, and were patient with Olrox's early mistakes and awkwardness. A few were sympathetic, but for some reason, their pity and murmurs of consolation were more galling than anything. Once he was more sure of himself, he barked out what orders were necessary without preamble, and the castle's inhabitants gave his the distance he wanted.  
  
Over the next several weeks, Olrox's life became a mechanical cycle of sleep, feeding, and constant work. Simply keeping the castle's ancient stones from crumbling around everyone's heads seemed an uphill battle. At times, very early in the morning, when Olrox was thoroughly exhausted, he half believed that the place was somehow alive, testing him. The endless work was wearing on him, but it kept him occupied. It kept him from thinking about the fact that there was still no improvement in Vlad's deathlike sleep. 'I wonder,' he mused one morning as he crawled into bed, 'if this is all that's left. If he'll just lie there, too weak even to breathe, forever...' He tried not to think, but sometimes thoughts simply came. He wondered if Vlad was dreaming, and whether they were peaceful dreams or nightmares. Olrox himself suffered nightmares on those days he dreampt at all. They were vague, meaningless, and yet left a lingering dread long after the fitful day's sleep had ended.  
  
Torio helped where he could. Finally, he sent Olrox off altogether. "Rest for a few nights," he said firmly. "Nothing disastrous will happen in two days, even with me minding things."  
  
After wandering aimlessly for a while, Olrox found himself at the door to the room that held Vlad. Some deeper part of him knew where it wanted to be, and Olrox wouldn't argue with it. Pushing the door open, he greeted the drowsy guard.  
  
"Anything?" Olrox asked, with his small surviving bit of hope.  
  
The guard shrugged its hairy shoulders. "Hard to say, domnule," it rasped. "Thought I saw his chest rise an hour ago, but if you stare long enough, you can see anything."  
  
With a disappointed nod, Olrox dismissed the guard and sat down to watch the still form of the older vampire himself. Vlad's face looked......distant. Not peaceful, certainly. A deep sigh swelled up from Olrox's chest. His thoughts turned inward as he contemplated the comatose form before him, arms folded over the chest easily, white hair clean now and neatly arranged. 'I don't hate him, for the moment. And I don't believe that I love him, either. Am I only troubled because he's the only other person here like...like me? But we don't seem to understand one another at all. I don't know...'  
  
His vigil lasted three nights, and Olrox despaired of ever seeing his master awake again. And then, when Olrox had given up and was preparing to leave, there was a change.  
  
It was very slight, just the faintest breath, but the gasp that followed drew Olrox's attention. With the movement, Vlad's eyes snapped open, and his lips drew into an agonized snarl. Olrox's eyes widened in disbelief as a second shuddering gasp followed the first. Realization of what would soon occur came when Olrox approached the coffin. 'Once he moves, he'll go into fits. God, I remember that pain...'  
  
And, sure enough, when Vlad turned his head toward the noise of Olrox's footsteps, he cried out and convulsed. Panicking, Olrox leapt into the coffin, trying to pin the larger man before he hurt himself. Fortunately, Vlad regained control over himself in a few brief seconds; Olrox sighed in relief-Vlad was too strong, even now, to be held.  
  
All of Vlad's muscles were rigid; he was shaking with the effort of keeping still. His wide eyes seemed to stare right through Olrox to the ceiling. Remembering how Vlad had helped the circulation in his own limbs, Olrox gingerly chafed Vlad's shoulders and arms with his palms, eliciting a sharp hiss from the older vampire. After a few minutes of such work, however, Vlad relaxed slightly, and his eyes focused finally on Olrox's face.  
  
Grimacing, Vlad raised himself to a sitting position, leaning on his arm. Shakily, he lifted the other hand and rested it on Olrox's cheek. His hand was frigid, and Olrox blinked red tears from his eyes as he covered it with his own. On opening his eyes again, he saw Vlad's wan smile, with the tip of one canine showing. His own face was streaked with blood.  
  
Wordlessly, Vlad leaned forward and gently kissed Olrox on the forehead. He then rested his head on the younger vampire's shoulder and quietly sobbed. Olrox found himself circling his arms around his elder and weeping along with him. He was grateful that the room was locked from the inside.  
  
Several hours passed, and the two dozed near the fireplace, Vlad leaning against the warm hearthstones and Olrox leaning comfortably against Vlad. Nothing had yet been said, and Olrox doubted that anything would for some time to come. Words were insufficient and somehow inappropriate at the moment. He rested his head over Vlad's heart, relief and elation still flooding him with each feeble beat. His eyes drifted shut in contentment, though Vlad's chest and arms chilled him even within a few feet of the fire.  
  
A soft, drowsy haze prevailed. Olrox felt the accumulated tension of the past several weeks dissipate, letting Vlad run icy fingers through his hair. He had already fed, and would have been happy enough to spend the rest of the evening lazing on the hearthstones.  
  
Eventually, Vlad shifted so that his head rested on Olrox's shoulder again. His grip tightened a bit, but not uncomfortably so. Olrox half opened his eyes, staring into the fire. 'I wonder how long it's been since I just sat and watched something like this?' Wrapped in Vlad's arms and watching the shifting patterns in the fire, he felt serenely happy. The flickering flames and the ethereal smoke curling up into the chimney were mesmerizing, calming to an already relaxed mind. It came as quite a shock, then, to feel a puff of cool breath and the light press of teeth against the skin of his throat.  
  
"...Vlad?" Olrox said softly, immediately tensing again. His heartbeat quickened in alarm. There was no response. Vlad was holding the smaller vampire so closely Olrox felt as though the air was being squeezed from his lungs. Eyes wide, Olrox got a fistful of Vlad's hair and pulled, trying to push himself backward with the other hand. "Vlad...!"  
  
Vlad started, as though waking from a trance. Just as suddenly, Olrox was roughly shoved away as Vlad sprang to his feet and slipped through the locked keyhole of the door in a cloud of vapor.  
  
Olrox was left sprawled on the floor, gazing, bewildered, at the door. 'What on earth was that? Why am I so frightened...?' He laid a hand over his heart, feeling his pulse still racing. With mild disgust at his reaction, Olrox mulled over the past few seconds. 'Would he have bitten me? Why would he?'  
  
He remembered that Vlad hadn't fed in over a month. "Oh." 'Well, perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad, then. It's not as though I don't know what it feels like. And he wouldn't have left like that. So, why didn't I let him......?' The thought made him shudder, and his hand involuntarily rose to clutch his throat. He sighed.  
  
"And the day had taken such a good turn..."  
  
Later that week, Olrox was still uneasy. He hadn't seen any more of Vlad, which was probably for the best, for the time being. Vlad was whole and well, and so Olrox didn't have to worry on that count. He simply returned quietly to his own duties and stayed out of the way. He noticed himself in the mirror more than was his habit, his eyes having a haunted look about them that drew his attention. He hoped he was the only one who noticed.  
  
His asocial mood was aided by the powerful fatigue that came over him once he was back in his familiar work. He fed quickly at the start of the evening, put in a few hours at his desk and issuing orders within the area of his dominion, and found himself ready for sleep before dawn.  
  
He would have been thankful for the much-needed extra rest had it not been for an unpleasant recurring dream, or rather, memory. For some reason, the failed reunion with Mihai played itself out through Olrox's mind almost as soon as he closed his eyes. After several nights of this, Olrox put it down as rattled nerves, and, gloomily, tried his best not to dwell on it.  
  
Eventually, the memory subsided, and Olrox was left with the relative normality of someone else's memories...  
  
Olrox was very confused to see Radu and Mehmed engaged in a nasty-looking swordfight before realizing that they were merely sparring with one another, albeit Radu seemed rather unnecessarily enthusiastic. The sultan was beginning to tire, doing little more than blocking the constant blows from his opponent's scimitar. They fought in a grassy alcove, set apart from a larger garden by a thick hedge of trees and flowering plants. A geometric fountain with fish swimming in its basin crouched in the center of the man-made glade, and a lone stone bench sat off to one side. The fountain gurgled in monotone; birdsong carried on the breeze. The clash of metal on metal and the combatants' breathing were the only human sounds.  
  
Aside from the sweat beading his brow, the sultan's advisor showed no sign of fatigue; Radu was propelled along by sheer vicious anger. The sash that belted his loose tunic and trews fanned out behind him like a monster's tail as he gracefully dodged Mehmed's blade. He paused only while he attacked, throwing more and more of his weight behind every swipe until, with a small hop, he brought the blade down vertically. Mehmed had the presence of mind to lift his scimitar to parry the strike; even so, he was forced to his knees, his left hand braced against the flat of his blade to keep Radu's scimitar from cleaving his skull in two.  
  
Panting, Mehmed nodded, signaling that he had lost. Reluctantly, Radu stepped back and allowed the sultan to stand.  
  
"An hour ago I heard from my page that my spy arrived at the gates this morning, empty-handed," Radu commented coolly, his scimitar now hanging peacefully at his side.  
  
"Really? After all this time with no word I'd thought he'd been killed."  
  
Radu snorted. "Nasser? If such had been the case I'd have been very surprised and disappointed."  
  
Mehmed rested on a stone bench, watching his advisor pace back and forth like the palace's caged panther. "Where is he now?"  
  
"Sleeping," Radu growled, "Don't ask foolish questions; had he found anything useful he'd have come directly to me." Sighing, he settled down beside the young sultan on the bench. "It's no use. My brother really must have slain all of his rivals."  
  
"Are you sure? What of my agent?" Mehmed insisted.  
  
"My agent had the head tied to his saddlebag; as for the rest of your agent, I'd rather not know where he is." A dry grin crossed Radu's face. "I told you he was worthless. You ought to listen to me."  
  
There was a long, tense silence in which Mehmed stared at the ground and Radu examined his fingernails. Then, out of nothing, Radu announced, "I can have our forces ready to invade Wallachia within the month. We'll be free to cross into Europe by spring."  
  
The sultan shifted uneasily. "Would it be wise to take such drastic action?"  
  
A touch of frustration leaked into Radu's voice. "Drastic? Your father spent his entire reign toying with Wallachia. It's a stain on the map, Mehmed, why waste any more time?"  
  
"What of the Holy Roman Empire? There's really no way around them, is there? And they're hostile."  
  
Radu dismissed the comment with a wave of his slender hand. "The Emperor is a figurehead, and the Church squabbles within itself more than it fights us. We'll catch them off their guard." He stretched, catlike, and yawned politely into his palm. "Then we'll invade Wallachia from both the east and the west." He delicately picked up a small beetle that had landed on his lap and held it up between his thumb and index finger. "My brother relies on the raid, the ambush, the trap. Wallachia cannot meet us in open battle. As long as they have safe havens on their western borders and within Roman territory, they will scurry away at the sight of our banners like roaches in sunlight; the war will drag out for decades more. We shall simply leave Voivode Dracula with nowhere to which to retreat, and force him into making a stand. And with Wallachia so neatly within our jaws..." After admiring the beetle a moment longer, he pinched, crushing the insect slowly. "We shall have easy access to the rest of the continent."  
  
"More efficient in the long run, I suppose," Mehmed conceded, looking with mild disgust at the mess on Radu's fingertips. He looped his arm around his advisor's waist fondly, almost aggressively.  
  
"Of course." Radu wiped the guts and bits of carapace off of his fingers on the front of Mehmed's tunic. Mehmed leaned in to nuzzle Radu's jawline; the latter took the opportunity to whisper something Olrox couldn't catch.  
  
"What?!" Mehmed snapped, incredulous. "But you can't...!"  
  
With a huff, Radu deftly twisted out of Mehmed's grasp and rose from the bench, undisguised frustration hardening his features. "Why can't I?"  
  
Mehmed didn't answer right away, instead staring up at his advisor. Radu met the gaze evenly and the pair held still, eyes locked, challenging one another for a beat or two. "You're my advisor. An advisor's duties are within the palace." Mehmed glared up sullenly.  
  
"You could make me a general, then." A demand in suggestion's clothing.  
  
Weakly, Mehmed protested. "It's not that simple. The people are uncomfortable enough with you as it is; if I were to put you in command of my armies..."  
  
"Pah!" Radu spat, arms akimbo. With a smirk, he went on, voice as silky as he could make it. "Who better to understand our barbarian enemies than the sultan's tame barbarian? You have no reason to be concerned over the rabble. Just feed them a few sweet words to calm them and leave me to my work." He tossed his head back in a mocking laugh. "Really, sometimes I think you forget what you are."  
  
Rising, Mehmed shook his head and approached his advisor again, catching the man's arm before Radu could pull away. "I could say the same for you. You seem to be giving me orders again." There was another heavy pause. "Why are you so eager to leave the empire...?" He narrowed his eyes, perhaps studying his advisor's face, but Radu had schooled his face into a neutral, empty expression.  
  
Seconds later Radu's mask split in an oily smile. "Oh my, am I conspiring against the crown? Shame on me." Chuckling, he leaned into Mehmed's arm and gazed at the sultan from underneath his eyelashes. "You're not usually so paranoid--why this sudden suspicion? Toward me, of all people! I'm merely giving you counsel; isn't that what I'm supposed to do?" Idly, he twirled a few of Mehmed's dark curls around his fingers. Mehmed melted.  
  
Olrox, a helpless observer, wondered how the man had managed to live long enough to ascend to the throne. 'He may not have without Vlad's brother. Ugh, what a display...'  
  
Sultan Mehmed seemed torn. "You insist on this? Is it really necessary?"  
  
Radu shifted nearer, draping his other arm around Mehmed's shoulders. As though obeying an unexplained law of physics, Mehmed slipped his arms around Radu's waist. Weaving strange patterns in his monarch's hair, Radu went on ruthlessly, purring. "The health of your empire and legacy ride on the success or failure of this expansion. The best plans can be bungled by incompetence, and that reflects poorly on us. Doesn't it?"  
  
By this time, Mehmed's resolve had been methodically chipped away. He nodded weakly.  
  
"Now, why would you trust anyone else to carve land for you out of Europe?" He held Mehmed's gaze. His voice had a 'Don't you trust me?' whine to it. His body language: submissive. His face: innocent. Nevertheless, it was obvious which one was in control.  
  
Olrox was thoroughly sickened.  
  
Smooth and seductive, Radu brushed his lips against Mehmed's ear and delivered the fatal strike. "I've only ever had your best interests at heart. When have I ever been wrong?"  
  
"Nearly never," Mehmed croaked.  
  
Radu did something that Olrox didn't quite follow, which was fine with him.  
  
"Never," Mehmed amended. He sighed in resignation. "You're right, as usual. I'll appoint you general at court tomorrow morning."  
  
"This evening."  
  
The sultan grew upset again. "Absolutely not! Radu, it's nearly sunset; most of the court has gone home."  
  
"And?" Radu sulked. "Are they more important than I am? They'll find out tomorrow, won't they?"  
  
"Yes, but-"  
  
"Don't be contrary. I'm not asking much. No ceremony, just make everything official now so that I can get a good start in the morning. There's much to do yet, and a month is only a short time."  
  
Mehmed glared at his advisor peevishly. "If you're in such a damned hurry, why don't you begin your preparations tonight?"  
  
The advisor answered by kissing his sultan, deeply, on the mouth.  
  
"If you'd rather," Radu purred knowingly.  
  
"Never mind."  
  
A servant's footsteps padded across the turf outside the alcove, and the pair separated, gathered their weapons, and parted ways, unseen.  
  
Olrox woke feeling tainted. Isolated from them as he was, Olrox silently thanked God for his own brothers.  
  
'I wonder how long I've been sleeping?' He was stiff, as though he'd lain in bed a long time. He bent his arms above his head and arched his back. His spine popped pleasantly in several places, but his palms had never met the mattress. 'What?' Craning his neck backward, Olrox was met with the sight of his coverlet and pillows laying innocently three feet beneath his body.  
  
"God in Heaven!"  
  
In an instant he'd fallen to his bed again. Olrox sat up, gingerly rubbing his neck and staring around the bed posts and curtains wildly, half thinking he'd been the victim of a practical joke. But there were no ropes, no mirrors, nothing but his own familiar furniture, which he'd been floating above only moments ago.  
  
Sighing, he got unsteadily to his feet and went about his nightly routine, feeding without much enthusiasm and sitting down to his work. He made little progress, however, too distracted to concentrate on the unending invoices, requests, and reports. 'How did I do that...?' He was nibbling idly at the nib of his pen when it unexpectedly cracked, interrupting his thoughts with the gritty charcoal taste of ink.  
  
"Blech!" Jumping to his feet, Olrox spat a gob of ink into the wastepaper basket next to his desk, dropping the ruined quill in after it. 'That was my last pen,' he lamented to himself. 'So much for being productive.'  
  
As it turned out, he wouldn't have accomplished much, pen or no pen, because a few minutes later, there was a knock at the door.  
  
Thinking that it was one of the servants, Olrox threw open the door. "Well, what do you... Oh. Hello, Torio."  
  
The bird-man beamed cheerfully. "Olrox, friend, good evening! Not working too hard, I hope?"  
  
"Do I ever?" Olrox smirked halfheartedly. He opened the door wider to let Torio in, but was pulled out into the stained glass hall instead.  
  
"Have I come at a bad time?"  
  
"No. Why?"  
  
Torio tipped his head to one side in confusion. "It's just that you have ink spattered all over your face. It is ink, isn't it?"  
  
Sighing again, Olrox allowed his expression to soften. "Of course it is. Clumsiness on my part, it's nothing."  
  
Chuckling, the tengu wiped his friend's face clean with the cuff of his robe. "Then you must be very clumsy today indeed, to have made such a mess." He noticed Olrox's downcast gaze. "What's wrong, Olrox-kun? Something is troubling you."  
  
Olrox mentally shook himself and waved off Torio's concern. "Nothing of importance, Torio. I'm just a bit preoccupied lately."  
  
"We haven't spoken since Master Dracula's recovery. I thought you'd be happy. Instead I find you sulking alone in your chambers."  
  
"I'm not sulking, I'm... I'm not sure what I'm doing. Maybe I'm having trouble settling back into my regular duties." He shrugged. "A crowded hall isn't the place to discuss such matters, anyway."  
  
Torio glanced around at the small sea of faces, several of which were watching the pair with interest, and acquiesced. "Come with me," he beckoned, and wove through the crowd. Olrox, a little surprised at the command, followed without argument, creatures clearing a straight path through the large stone room.  
  
"What you need, friend," Torio continued, once they were out of earshot, "Is a quick change of pace. I always get depressed and lazy when I'm bored. You've never seen my rookery, have you?"  
  
With some surprise, Olrox realized that, no, in all the months he'd lived in the castle he'd never been to the tower that Torio managed. "No. It never occurred to me."  
  
"Then you shall come now and see it. I've an important task that must be done there immediately, and you're the only one I trust for help."  
  
Thus hooked, Olrox found himself trudging through what must have been over a mile of hallways and stairs, even though he'd have rather stayed in his own rooms. He had to admit he was curious. 'I wonder what his tower looks like...if it's anything like a Japanese dwelling. His descriptions of them were so strange.'  
  
But all his wondering aside, nothing could have prepared him for the chaos that met Olrox's eyes the moment they entered Torio's chambers. Black birds, ravens, crows, even a few starlings, congregated on every available surface and flew in every direction. The air was filled with a cacophony of caws and shrieks. He was beginning to become rather nervous when Torio caught his eye, grinned, and stepped out into the melee of birds.  
  
Clearing his throat, Torio let out a bird cry so loud and piercing it made Olrox wince and cover his ears. The multitude of avian life immediately silenced and perched quietly around the perimeter of the room. The tengu looked back at Olrox a bit sheepishly and motioned for him to come in. "Sorry about that. They tend to act up when I'm gone."  
  
"That's all right. I just wasn't expecting quite so many," Olrox said, warily eying the birds as he joined Torio in the center of the circular tower room. "There must be hundreds of them."  
  
Torio looked around at the host of birds and nodded. "Yes, that sounds about right. They come and go through the windows. You should see this place when they're all inside; it grows crowded!"  
  
"There are more...?" Olrox muttered.  
  
"But now for the task I mentioned," Torio said, turning serious again. "If you don't mind, that is."  
  
"What is it?" Olrox hoped it had nothing to do with birds.  
  
Sighing, Torio shrugged out of his outer robe, leaving his torso bare. "Stand back a bit, and I will show you." Confused but curious, Olrox obliged. The tengu stood quietly for a moment, head down, eyes unfocused, for a long moment. Finally, Olrox noticed that Torio's shoulder blades had been gradually gathering into unnatural bulges. Suddenly, with a noise of tearing skin and popping joints, Torio's back exploded outward in a cloud of dark feathers. With a yell, Olrox leapt back.  
  
'What in all hell was that?!'  
  
Daring to look at his friend, Olrox was surprised to see, not the gore he'd expected, but a pair of large black wings unfurling from Torio's shoulder blades. With a contented smile, the bird spirit stretched arms and wings toward the ceiling, feathers fully splayed, before folding them easily behind his back.  
  
Olrox simply stared. "Mother Mary," he whispered.  
  
"Well, I am a bird spirit, after all..." Torio lowered his eyes shyly. "They're really rather disgraceful at the moment."  
  
"How so?" Olrox still stared awestruck at the enormous wings. 'How can he bear the weight of them, I wonder? They must be very heavy...' "They're incredible."  
  
Torio sighed and beckoned Olrox closer. "It's the feathers. You see these here?" He cupped his left wing in to show the underside feathers. Olrox nodded appreciatively, with no idea what he was supposed to be noting. "Now look at these." The tengu tipped the wing forward to show a bit of the feathers on the top. By contrast, these feathers were dull and tattered, some pointing out in odd directions, others broken and hanging loose.  
  
"Oh. What's wrong with them?"  
  
"There's nothing wrong exactly, it's just that back home we helped each other maintain our wings." He shook the wing slightly and watched in irritation as five or six ragged feathers dropped to the floor. "I can't reach the back myself, so I've been unable to preen them properly." As he spoke, he demonstrated, pivoting around in a vain attempt to touch the back of his own wing. Olrox stifled a laugh. "It's months until my next molt, and they're unbearable," Torio said, giving up dejectedly.  
  
'And so the ulterior motive becomes plain.' Olrox nodded. "You want me to clean your feathers for you."  
  
"If it's not too much trouble, yes please."  
  
"Of course it isn't."  
  
Torio beamed. "Arigato!"  
  
"If it will stop your moaning."  
  
Feathers ruffled. "It was an honorable request."  
  
"It's a very round-about way to ask for a simple favor, you must admit."  
  
The tengu shrugged slightly, the gesture exaggerated by his wings, and led Olrox to a low, low table surrounded by large cushions.  
  
Olrox watched his friend take a seat on one cushion and look up at him expectantly. 'They really do sit on the floor, then.' Hoping he didn't look too put-out, he seated himself similarly and let Torio arrange his wings so that Olrox could reach both easily.  
  
The vampire brushed his fingers over the mass of untidy black feathers. "What am I supposed to do with them?"  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry," Torio said, "I forget that you have none of your own. There is oil at the bases, where the wings meet my shoulders. If you'd spread that over the surface of the feathers, and pluck out the ruined ones..."  
  
Nodding, though Torio had his back to him, Olrox gingerly felt for the spot of oil. The bird man had tried to point it out, but he obviously couldn't be very specific. At some point, his hands met skin, making Torio yelp and shy away.  
  
"Sorry!" Olrox apologized, embarrassed. "I must be frigid."  
  
Torio glanced back, humor in his eyes. "You are a bit chilled, my friend. Have you fed yet?"  
  
Olrox sighed. "Yes. It's the drafts."  
  
"Not much to be done about that; no matter, I was only surprised."  
  
Quiet returned. After a moment more of searching, Olrox found the oil gland and set to work preening his unusual friend's huge wings. Settling into a rhythmic pattern of plucking, finger-combing, and spreading oil on the coal-black feathers, Olrox let his eyes and mind wander, taking in the strange room around him.  
  
Besides the low table and cushions, the stone floor was covered by large, rectangular mats made out of some kind of woven grasses or rushes, Olrox couldn't tell what. Large, elegant scrolls of alien calligraphy hung from the walls, along with a rack holding five slightly curved, single-edged swords. These seemed to hold a place of honor in the room, and were lovingly well cared-for. 'They have no hilts. How very odd...'  
  
Shelves and wooden pegs had been hammered into the mortar; and all of them were crowded with birds. They were eerily silent, save for a few muttered croaks, all closely watching Olrox and their master. Unnerved, Olrox's gaze slid up the walls, where rank upon rank of small, dark eyes stared back at him with shocking intelligence. In the highest rafters, where only a few particularly large ravens perched, there was an enormous nest. It was clean and finely made, lashed securely to the rafter beams by supple green branches. 'That explains the lack of a bed, I suppose. I should have expected as much.'  
  
Running out of curiosities to ponder, Olrox let his gaze fall back to Torio's wings, let his mind slip back into the well-worn track it had been in for weeks before his friend had interrupted. The monotonous movement of his hands kept time for his thoughts. Why had Vlad behaved so strangely the night he'd awakened from that death-like sleep? And why had Olrox neither seen nor heard anything of the older vampire since then? 'Is he angry with me?' Olrox puzzled to himself, smoothing a few stray feathers back into place. 'Was it something I did? Was I wrong to push him away like that...?' He worried his lip with his incisors, his hands still, his work forgotten. Numbly, he raised a hand to his throat again, feeling the quickened pulse there, a chill jumping up his backbone at the very thought of...  
  
"Hmm?" Torio murmured brought out of whatever trance he'd fallen into while Olrox groomed his bedraggled plumage. "Did you go to sleep, friend?" he asked good-humoredly.  
  
Wincing, Olrox shook himself free of his reverie, and with a mumbled apology, continued his tidying. 'I can't. I couldn't ever...' He started on the other wing. 'He should understand that. He must have known how frightened I was; why didn't he say anything? Not a single word! How can he criticize my behavior when I don't know how I'm supposed to behave?'  
  
"Ouch!"  
  
Olrox had angrily tugged out a healthy feather by mistake. Embarrassed, he held the feather up, frowning at it. "I'm sorry, Torio. I wasn't paying attention."  
  
Torio shrugged. "Keep it. You can always use one more pen." He waited until Olrox had settled back into his cleaning, then asked, "What is it that troubles you, Olrox-kun?"  
  
"What do you mean?" Olrox answered absently.  
  
"You well know what I mean," the tengu admonished. "You've been unnaturally quiet, and your hands are beginning to shake; I can feel it through my quills."  
  
Olrox shook his head. "It's nothing," he said tightly.  
  
"You insult me with a lie, friend."  
  
Without warning to either Torio or himself, Olrox's temper flared. "Be insulted, then! It's my worry to tell or keep as I wish; take your pointed nose out of my business before I break it!" The threat echoed and bounced off the stone walls, startling birds that cawed in protest.  
  
Torio sat stunned, feathers ruffled. Olrox felt his words hanging heavy in the air, and immediately regretted them. 'Why did I do that? He was only trying to help me...' "I'm sorry, Torio," he said timidly. "I shouldn't have shouted."  
  
"That's all right, Olrox-kun. I shouldn't have pried." Torio's own voice was a bit shaky.  
  
"It's no excuse. I'm sorry. Blessed Mary, I don't know what's wrong with me." Olrox covered his face with his hands, pulling into himself. Torio turned to face his friend, concern making him look nearly comical. Gingerly, he set one wing against the vampire's back in a sort of pseudo-embrace. Olrox accepted the soft warmth of feathers and wing with listless passivity.  
  
"I'd like to think that you trust me, friend," Torio said softly, "If you don't wish to share your burden with me, I won't press the matter."  
  
Feeling guilty and ungracious at that, Olrox offered, "I do trust you, dear Torio. I'd trust you with my very life." His voice faltered; he hesitated. "But this is something I simply cannot confide to you. Not even you. It shames and terrifies and hounds me and I don't understand..." He lapsed into silence again, and for once Torio did not try to bring him back to wakefulness, was content to let his companion sit is silent sympathy.  
  
'I gave up my humanity without any real fight, and now I don't know what I am,' Olrox realized, dejected. 'I'm a ship without any anchor. I've been thrown into an incomprehensible hell, and the one person who could possibly help or console me has cut me loose. I'm lost...'  
  
After a few minutes of quiet thought, Olrox waved Torio's wing away and stood. "I should go. I'm sorry for being such awful company."  
  
Torio smiled, though it was a little forced. "You're apologizing far too much, Olrox-kun. It doesn't suit you."  
  
Olrox trudged back to his own quarters with his shoulders slumped, feeling wretched. His mind twisted around his new revelation, running through it forward and back again, accomplishing nothing save sinking Olrox into a deeper melancholy.  
  
He reached his chamber door and stepped inside, intending to go to sleep for a while. He'd almost reached the door to his bedroom when a soft cough stopped him from the fireplace. Olrox turned, and was confronted by the sight of Vlad sitting silhouetted by the guttering fire. The younger vampire stood rooted to the spot in fear, unable to speak around the lump rising in his throat.  
  
Vlad stood and began to approach; Olrox found himself shaking uncontrollably, yet couldn't move away. His elder noticed this and stopped where he was in the center of the room, looking very much chagrinned.  
  
"I..." he began, and then lost his nerve. They stood with locked eyes for a few tense heartbeats. Visibly collecting himself for the first time, Vlad broke the silence. "I'm sorry," he whispered.  
  
Olrox laughed, quietly, hysterically. It startled Vlad so that he took a step back, flummoxed. When Olrox's laughter dissolved into hitching sobs Vlad was in more familiar territory, and came forward again to stand near Olrox, though not near enough to touch him. He looked forlornly at Olrox, whose down-turned face was hidden by his hair. "I'm not sure..." He searched for words. "I lost control of myself," he finished lamely.  
  
Olrox fought his tears, managed to stop the sobs that forced their way up from somewhere in his chest. "It's all right," he croaked. He wished Vlad would leave. Reaching up, he dried his eyes with the lace cuff of his shirtsleeve, staining the white red and ruining it.  
  
Taking hold of Olrox's shoulders in both hands, Vlad forced the distraught man to look at him. "No, Olrox. It's not. I've wronged you, wronged you gravely." Olrox wept again at the words, but the knots inside him loosened slightly. Vlad glared at a spot on the wall and continued. "I should have come sooner and said this, but..." He paused again. "I've been cowardly. Copil, I couldn't bring myself to even look you in the eye."  
  
Olrox must have made a small noise of acceptance, though he couldn't remember, because Vlad pulled him into a tentative embrace. Olrox complied out of habit, resting his head against the taller man's chest, listening to the heart within. But all illusion of security the gesture once held was gone. Any tender feeling from the older vampire was now jarring and paradoxical in Olrox's eyes.  
  
Sensing Olrox's glacial attitude, Vlad ended the farce and released him. He sighed, smiling weakly, miserable. "I don't ask you to forgive me now. I know you cannot. But someday, perhaps, we can put this unpleasant business behind us...?"  
  
If he was hoping for agreement, he didn't get it. Olrox turned away, head bowed. "Please go, domnule."  
  
Vlad opened his mouth to reply, but thought better of it and nodded, resigned for now. He left without a parting word.  
  
Weary, overwrought, Olrox dragged himself into his bedroom and readied for bed, undressing and brushing his hair mechanically. Climbing into bed, he brought his knees up to his chin, wrapping his arms around his shins, wrung dry of tears. 'I'm alone. What good is he when there are so many secrets between us, so many mysteries I must accept...' He was too tired for anything more than the simplest self-pity, and fell into an uneasy slumber with the unseen dawn.  
  
Opa! Jeezus, how melodramatic was that? This was all written between the hours of 10:30 and 3:00 a.m., usually while listening to goth rock, which could explain...things. And stuff. I'm so damn tired. There was more I wanted to do with this chapter, but...bleh.  
  
Nasser- My Physics professor's given name. He strikes me as the type who'd take part in international espionage.  
  
Speaking of which, Radu is a bitch, isn't he? I love villains... This chapter was more character development than anything else, which bugs me. I'm going to kick the pacing up a notch or two to get to the SotN storyline. I've still got a lot of ground to cover and I want to finish this accursed story by spring. 


End file.
